JLAin't: A Year in the Life
by MyklarCure
Summary: JLAin't 3: J'onn remembers a tumultuous year in the JLA. Conclusion now up!
1. Prologue

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JLAin't: A Year in the Life  
JLAin't #3 by: MyklarCure

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Prologue

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz

A lot can happen in a year. 

It's hard to believe, but it's been just over a year since the night Oliver returned to us. By "us", I mean those of us in the JLA and the superhero community at large. Oliver Queen's tragic death almost 7 years ago, while brave, left a whole in many of our hearts. We mourned his passing greatly, but eventually moved on with the realization that he was truly gone. Then, he mysteriously re-appeared at our first "get-together" of the year, seemingly unharmed and good as new. Apparently, he'd been back for some time, living on the streets of Star City. We later discovered it had been Hal Jordan who had been responsible for his return -- some kind of self-penance he performed before he heroically sacrificed himself re-igniting the sun. Oliver would spend the next few months attempting to reunite his body with his soul, but that night when he showed up at my apartment, he was still a "husk" - a soulless body. But that didn't stop him from being the same old Oliver. He spent the entire evening trying to sneak a little Bailey's into Clark's milk. We decided that night to orchestrate his "official" return the following day. We called all of the current League members up to the Tower and had Arthur present Oliver as if he had just run into him in the harbor of Star City. Those of us who had been at our monthly "get-together" the night before promised to act surprised to see him, but that certainly didn't take a whole lot of acting prowess when Diana grabbed Ollie and kissed him full-force on the lips right in front of everyone.

Oliver's return sparked an excited energy in all of us. With Hell Month finally over, the League settled into its normal routine of weekly meetings with all involved. It felt like we were finally getting ourselves back on track and ready to take on the world. Little did we know, that we would essentially be doing just that. 

In retrospect, there were a lot of factors that lead to the huge decisions we made this past year. The press battles, the overblown reports of our activities, the Imperiex "battle" which was little more than a fantastic light show designed to conceal a species with limited actual power and delusions of grandeur. The worst, though, was the in-fighting amongst the League itself. With such differing personalities and points of view, differences of opinion are the norm for us; it's part of what makes the League so effective. But for some reason, something that should have been relatively mundane -- the establishment of the Public Relations Subcommittee -- snowballed into a massive breakdown between us all. 

It's been a year that included so many positive things for us and for those around us, including the (eventual) marriage of Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon, both of whom have special connections to the League -- and not just through Batman. Dick, Bruce's adopted son and former Boy Wonder, Robin, now continues his crime-fighting career as Nightwing. He is not only a Reserve Member of the Justice League, but is also a close, personal friend of Wally's that started all those years ago when then helped form the Titans. And Barbara, daughter of retired Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon and former Batgirl, now serves the League as our Information and Communications Specialist and all-around techno-whiz Oracle. Their nuptials should have been a happy and proud moment for many of us, but unfortunately, that and many other great things that happened this past year were somewhat overshadowed by the problems we were all facing, both together as a unit and separately in our own lives. 

And to think it all started with Diana's little explosion on the SHMB...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**__**

Twelve Months Earlier...

"What in Hera's name is this!" 

Diana slammed the newspaper down on the conference table right in front of Superman with a thud. Clark stared down at the all-too-familiar **Daily Planet** logo adorning the top of the page, just over the headline:

**__**

Wonder Woman calls Internet Insipid, Inane.

Clark had begged Perry not to run the story. "Clark, my boy, it's _news_! We can't not print something just because you have some soft spot for the Amazonian Princess," was the reply he had gotten. That went over _real_ well with Lois. He had managed to convince Perry to run it in Monday's edition, hoping that the 5 days between the story's release and the weekly League meeting would be enough to calm Diana's ire. Apparently, they hadn't. 

"The story was everywhere, Diana. We couldn't avoid it..." Clark replied evenly. 

"Bullshit," she spat. Clark and J'onn were taken aback by the sound of profanity coming out of Diana's mouth. Arthur, on the other hind, simply smiled. 

"Diana! Language!" the Atlantian mocked, using the same tone he'd heard a thousand times aimed in his direction. Diana stared daggers at him as he sat still in his chair, staring back and defiantly smirking. J'onn nudged him telepathically, telling him not to provoke her. 

She returned her attention to Superman. "This is ridiculous, Kal. It's an outright lie! I didn't call the whole Internet insipid or inane. I may have said that some of the comments on one board were such, but certainly not everyone! I can't believe you let them print this... this... tripe!" 

"I think you overestimate my position at The Planet, Diana." Clark remained calm and passive, trying to diffuse her anger as best as he could. "I'm a reporter, that's it. This wasn't even my story."

Diana fumed silently for a moment, then finally resumed. "Still, this is an outrage, Kal! It's a smear campaign! They're all trying to make me into some raving lunatic!"

"That's fantastic!" Kyle chirped, strolling into the conference room in mid-conversation with Wally and Eel, completely oblivious to the conversation they were walking into. 

"Yeah, no kidding," Wally replied. "I'm so incredibly stoked it's not even funny! Although I will say it's about... damn... time..." his statement slowed to a halt as all three looked over at the table full of stares aimed in their direction. 

Between the look on Diana's face and whatever newspaper was sitting on the conference table, it was suddenly pretty obvious to Wally what they had been talking about. He didn't even need to see what newspaper it was -- although considering the brow-beaten look on Superman's face, Wally was relatively certain he knew -- because every newspaper, news channel and internet news site had been blasting the story all week. 

It had all started three weeks before, just after Diana's post on the SHMB. Many internet sites had picked up on her post and re-posted it all over the 'Net. Bloodyknife.com, a now-notorious internet "news" site that took stories like these and researched them, discovered that the post had in fact come from Diana herself (thanks to a tip off from someone at her ISP) and published their findings on Saturday. GNN caught wind of it via bloodyknife.com and started reporting it on TV on Sunday. By Monday morning, half the newspapers in the world were reporting it and by Tuesday, the rest had joined in. 

Wally, however, was in such good spirits over his news that he didn't really care. As far as he was concerned, she'd brought it on herself. "Hey guys!" he greeted in an overly-chipper tone, "Great news!" He added a quick "it certainly looks like you need it" under his breath before walking up to the table, smiling widely. 

"Dick's getting _married_!!" he announced as Eel and Kyle joined him at the table, smiling as well. 

"Dick? _Nightwing_ Dick?!" Superman asked, standing. He seemed overly exited about the notion, but that probably had more to do with the fact that he was escaping Diana's clutches for the moment. 

"Yes, Nightwing Dick," Wally confirmed, chuckling. 

"To who?" J'onn asked, equally excited. 

"Listen to you," Wally joked, looking in the Martian's direction, " 'To who?' To Babs! Y'know, Barbara Gordon." 

"Jim Gordon's little girl?!" Eel gasped. "You never told me that part!?"

"Yes," Wally replied, "though she's hardly a 'little girl' anymore. She's all growed up now, but yes Jim Gordon's daughter. And the former Batgirl..." 

Wally could almost see the light bulb flickering on above Eel's head. "Oh... OH!" The Man of Plastic responded, once he realized the full extent of Dick and Barbara's 'relationship'. The Superhero rumor mill being what it was, he had heard all the stories over the years about Robin and Batgirl. The stories were almost as legendary as the Batman/Catwoman stories out there, though far less... seedy. They were only kids, after all. Though considering Bruce and Catwoman's current 'relationship'... that bastard...

The rest of the room chuckled at Eel's sudden realization, a general happiness breaking through the earlier tension in the room. 

"And current Oracle," Wally thought, then kept to himself when he realized that Oracle had not been involved with the revelation of identities and he didn't know exactly who did and didn't know the truth. Instead, he looked over at the conference table and saw Diana now sitting in her seat, her dour expression replaced by an indifferent (and slightly patronizing) smile and Arthur sitting in his seat and nonchalantly cleaning his fingernails with his harpoon. Arthur looked up and met Wally's gaze, then smiled. 

"You don't seem very excited there, Arthur," Wally prompted. 

"Oh, I'm plenty excited for them," Arthur replied. "Just not surprised." He looked around at all of the confused looks, then winked at Wally. "Garth told me last night." 

"You knew?!" Superman asked Arthur incredulously. "And you didn't tell us?" 

Arthur's eyes flicked momentarily over toward Diana, who wasn't paying any attention to him, then bit off the "I didn't have the time" reply before it came out -- opting to avoid a Princess Prattlehead debate in light of the current "up" mood of the rest of the room. "Hey guys," he replied instead, looking up at Superman and J'onn in turn, "Nightwing's getting married!" J'onn slapped him playfully on the back of his head, eliciting more chuckles all around. 

"Hey! There's the proud Papa!" Wally chimed, turning to see Batman enter the conference room. He strolled up, holding his hand out for Batman to shake it. "Congratulations, big guy!"

Batman stopped and looked down at Wally's extended hand like it was a container of Smilex gas. Then, he looked back at Wally's face and said in a flat, even voice: "For what?"

Wally stood there, hand still outstretched like a limp fish and eyed the Dark Knight warily. "For... Dick's upcoming nuptials..." Wally prompted slowly, suddenly unsure if Dick had even told Bruce about it. 

"Oh... that" Batman replied evenly, not a hint of any emotion on his face, then added in the deadest of deadpans: "Thank you." He shook Wally's hand (much to Kyle's surprise) and moved on toward his place at the table, barely acknowledging the various other congratulatory greetings hurled in his direction. He sat, glancing around to the other Leaguers. "If we can get down to business..."

Arthur rolled his eyes at J'onn. Same old Bruce. The others shared similar thoughts as they all took their seats to begin the meeting. All except Clark, who watched Bruce intently and smiled quietly to himself as he noticed the nearly undetectable twitch at the corner of Batman's mouth. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The meeting went on as normal, save for Diana's continual interruptions. Every topic discussed and every issue addressed, she somehow managed to weave back to the current stories in the Media. An hour and 45 minutes later, they finally got around to the final topic: Oliver's return. And as per usual, Diana had plenty to say.

"I still think he needs to be put on the Reserve Roster until we have a definite answer as to whether or not it's actually him." 

"I agree," Batman replied. "The tests were inconclusive. It certainly looked, sounded and moved like Oliver, but until we know for sure..."

"Where are we on that?" J'onn inquired. 

"Connor, Dinah and Roy are working on that right now." Batman answered. "I've asked them to keep me abreast of everything and let me know once they have something definite." 

Superman nodded toward Bruce, indicating the topic was closed. "Thank you, Batman. So we keep him on the Reserve Roster until we hear anything from you." 

"And we need to try and keep this one quiet," Diana chimed in, obviously not quite through with the topic yet. "A current member of the League roster who could potentially be some fiend from another plane of existence is the last thing we need right now. Just another public black eye for the League." 

There were a few muffled groans and some uncomfortable shifting of seats. "As this last week has proven once again, public perception..."

"Diana..." Superman interjected, hoping to stem her ramblings this time around. She shot him a stern glare, then returned her attention to the rest of the League. 

"Public perceptions are..."

"Oh, for Poseidon's sake, **shut up!**" Arthur bellowed. "We get it! You're pissed at what's been written about you this week. Okay! Enough! Let's move on please!"

"No," Diana retorted, "we will not 'move on'. This is an important issue that must be addressed! Now while I may be a little biased considering this week's reports..."

"A _little_ biased?!" Arthur blurted.

"Yes!" Diana cut him off. "A little biased considering this week's reports, the fact remains that we... _all of us_... have been the victims of some rather egregious fabrications and untoward manipulations in the press recently and I think it's high time we do something about it."

"Like what? Blow up every TV station and news agency on the planet?" Wally joked, feeling a little more confident about airing his own opinions now that Arthur had broken the ice. 

"This isn't a joking matter, Wally!" Diana spat, turning a nasty glare in his direction. 

"Actually," Arthur interjected before Diana took Wally's head off, "I think it's pretty damn funny. You're all bent out of shape because what you wrote didn't have the effect you expected it to..."

"No," Diana retorted, returning her attention to Arthur, "What I wrote was taken out of context by the press and blown up into..."

"**Enough!**"

The voice was Bat-like, causing every set of eyes to instinctively glance over at Batman... who was sitting quietly in his chair with his fingers steepled under his nose. Everyone slowly scanned to his right to see Superman, now standing with his hand laying flat on the table. He caught each of their gazes with a stern stare, then paused and took a deep breath. 

"Enough," he repeated much more calmly, though the agitation was still evident in his voice. "Diana, you do have a legitimate gripe, we all see that. But I think we're all familiar enough with it now. You don't need to keep rehashing it for us."

"But Kal, I..." she began.

"NO!" Superman growled at her, "I said 'Enough'. Now, instead of debating the problem _ad nauseum_, how about offering up a solution. We all... well, most of us... agree that there is a problem when it comes to the press's handling of this group. And it could be debated that the problem is getting worse..."

Diana opened her mouth to interrupt, but Clark's glare deepened, causing her to stop. 

"So how do we _fix_ it? Do you have any suggestions? Does anyone?" He glanced around the table, looking at mostly blank (and some shocked) stares. 

"A Subcommittee" Diana replied almost instantly, forcing several of the League members to realize that she had this in mind all along. "A Public Relations Subcommittee whose purpose it is to discover ways to correct and eliminate this growing problem." 

"A Public Relations Subcommittee?" Clark asked. "Okay, and do you have any idea who would be on it. Or how many people would be involved?" 

"Well, actually..." she began proudly, having thought through the entire roster beforehand. 

"Five," Batman interrupted, drawing everyone's attention. "Five people. Odd number. All votes are guaranteed to have a majority."

"Actually, Batman, I was thinking..." Diana retorted, already sensing control of the Subcommittee slipping away from her. 

"The first committee member," Batman continued, completely ignoring her, "is Diana. It's her Subcommittee, her idea and her request for a solution, so she gets to run the committee." 

Diana was still not pleased about being ignored, but Batman's suggestion that she _lead_ the committee was enough for her to keep quiet and at least hear him out. Then she could take back over and tell them all how the committee would _really_ be run.

"Second member," Batman moved on, "is Superman. Your experience in the Newspaper field makes you an obvious choice. Third member is Oracle. Her ability to collect, process and distribute mass amounts of publicly published data makes her invaluable to you. I'll handle making sure that she's on board. The fourth member is J'onn." 

Batman received several incredulous stares, mostly from Diana and J'onn himself. Batman looked directly at the Martian and explained. 

"You generally stay below the public radar, J'onn. You can provide the necessary outsider's perspective. Plus, your unique view on the human condition and public perception may prove to be invaluable in the decisions that the committee must make. And the final member," he glanced to his left, "is Arthur."

"WHAT?!?" Diana and Arthur both chimed in unison. Batman focussed his attention solely on Arthur. 

"Arthur, as the sole voice of dissent for this whole affair, your opinion is the most crucial for the group. You're the only one who can make sure that the decisions reached are within reason and for the ultimate benefit of the entire League. That dissent is necessary to insure that all sides of the decisions are addressed. You are the most obvious choice of all." 

"I agree," added Superman. "That sounds like the perfect group for this situation. Anyone have a problem with that?" 

"YES!" Again, both Diana and Arthur in unison. Then, they started their complaints simultaneously, talking over one another. Clark held up his hands, stopping them both, then pointed at Diana. "Diana?"

"It's completely ludicrous! Arthur will spend the entire time arguing the validity of the whole committee! It'll be counterproductive to have him in the meetings..."

"Actually, Diana, he's only one vote." Superman explained. "If he's that off base, the rest of us can override him four-to-one. And as far as him being disruptive... well, as Chairperson of the Committee, it's your responsibility to keep the meetings on-track." He turned to the other opposition. "Arthur?" 

Arthur slumped back in his chair, staring at Batman for a long moment before looking up at Superman. "Do I even get a say in this? Ol' Dark and Broody here says it's so and so shall it be?"

"Of course not, Arthur," Superman reasoned. "You are free to say 'No' if you want to. However, I would ask that you take a week to think it over and get back to us at next week's meeting. Look at it logically and give it some real thought, then let us know. Okay, if there are no other objections, I'd say that's our committee." 

He glanced around the table, waiting for any other responses, then nodded. "Good. Diana..." he paused, suddenly realizing that if he continued his line of thought that Diana would be making up the Subcommittee's meeting schedule, they'd meet twice a week for the rest of their natural born lives. "The Public Relations Subcommittee will meet next week after the regular weekly meeting to discuss a regular schedule. That's all for today, folks. Have a good weekend."

Diana immediately rose from her chair and stormed out of the conference room. Wally, Kyle and Eel instantly started muttering among themselves. Batman looked to J'onn and nodded, the Martian standing and coming over behind Arthur to place a hand on his shoulder and keep him in his seat. Noting this, Superman walked around the table to the muttering trio and placed a friendly hand on Wally's shoulder. 

"That's great news about Dick, Wally. How did the proposal go? What did he do?" 

Wally chuckled. "Well, it didn't go _exactly_ as he originally planned it..." he explained as Superman led the three out of the conference room. Once the others were gone, Arthur shot a nasty look over his shoulder at J'onn, then turned to the still sitting Batman. 

"Bruce, what in Hades was that all about?!"

Batman replied in a calm and even tone. "What I said was true, Arthur. You _are_ the necessary voice of dissent for that group. You know as well as I do that if Diana had her way, we'd be on the cover of every newspaper and magazine on a weekly basis, extolling the virtues of a Superhuman moderated society. You're the only one who can make sure that doesn't happen. We need you in that group." 

"Whaleshit," Arthur spat. "You just put me in the damn committee so that _you_ wouldn't have to be there..."

Batman leaned forward suddenly, coming in close to Arthur's face. "Do you know why I'm in this League?" he growled roughly.

"Because you're Batman" Arthur sneered, unfazed. 

"No! It's not because of who I am; it's because of _what_ I am. I'm human. I don't have a metagene or an alien physiology or a magical power ring. I'm just a human being. There's enough collected power in this room on a weekly basis to completely obliterate this or any other planet in a matter of _minutes_. Or worse, to attempt to _rule_ the entire world. I'm here to make sure that _that_ never happens! I'm here to guarantee that all of you stay firmly tethered to the real world and not just up and decide to take over the world because it's not going the way you think it should. _That's_ why I'm still a part of this League and _that's_ exactly what we need in this ridiculous committee: someone to keep them grounded; make sure they don't go too far. And you're the perfect person for the job."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then looked up at J'onn, who merely nodded his agreement. Sighing, Arthur shook his head and stood. "I'll think about it," he grumbled.   
  
"That's all we ask," J'onn replied honestly. 

Arthur stared a moment more, then turned and walked out. Once he was gone, J'onn spun Arthur's chair around and sat in it, glancing over at Bruce. 

"Do you think it'll work?" J'onn asked.

"Arthur?" 

"No, the whole Subcommittee thing."

"Not a chance." Batman replied sourly.

"So what do _we_ do?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I've got my own public perception problems right now. I've got an entire manor full of International Food and Wine snobs invading my house next week."

J'onn chuckled. "I don't think I want to know." 

"No," Batman confirmed. "You don't." He stood and headed for the door, the unspoken understanding that they would both think over the other possible solutions for their current situations. 

"Hey Bruce," J'onn called just as Batman reached the doorway. Batman turned to regard him silently. 

"It's going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it?" J'onn asked. 

Batman stared for a moment in silent reply, then turned and walked out the door. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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To Be Continued...


	2. Adversaries

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Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

Little did I know how prophetic my words would be. It did indeed get worse. Much worse. 

The continual bashing of us in the press eventually gave rise to a much darker, much scarier reaction in the public's perception. What started out as a few misrepresented stories and a few outlandish theories about us and the nature of the League began to turn into an all out assault on us and all members of the Superhero community. While many still revered us as champions and heroes, a small but rapidly growing community of people began to view us as a menace, a group of brightly clad malcontents purposefully engaging in these larger-than-life battles for the sake of our own egos. They began calling us a threat. And out of this small community of people rose a voice; a ringleader of this anti-superhero movement that would eventually prove to be one of the most difficult adversaries we have ever faced. 

Meanwhile, other bonds started forming in the League that I only really became aware of recently. Wally and Kyle had always been closer to each other than to the rest of the group. I thought back then -- and to an extent, still think to this day -- that most of their connection was due to not only their age, but to the fact that they were both "new versions" of established heroes. Despite Kyle's continual belief that we all view him as "Hal's replacement", most of us see both him and Wally for what they are: new people successfully continuing in the grand tradition of their predecessors. I can see now the men (and the _heroes_) that the two of them have become and it is truly a wonderful thing to behold. And I think that part of that maturing process for the two of them was the relationship - the bond - they formed while working side-by-side in the League. Considering both of their natures (especially Wally's) and their shared sense of humor, however, this bond began to manifest itself outwardly in continual good-natured ribs, jokes, verbal prods and, eventually, pranks against one another. 

Now, I'm still unclear how Eel figured in to all of that, but somehow he did. Somewhere along the line, Eel started spending more time outside of League activities with the pair, turning the previous duo of jokesters into a triumvirate of total prankster mayhem. Eel is the ultimate instigator, egging the other two into fits of competitive practical jokes against one another. Their practical joke war still wages to this day, but I pity Eel the day they discover he's actually the one behind all of this.

As for the rest of us, Arthur eventually did agree to be on the PR Subcommittee -- much to Diana's chagrin, I think. The meetings were a little rough, especially to start. We agreed to meet every 2 weeks, immediately following the normal weekly meetings in order to avoid having to make multiple trips to the Watchtower. The first few meetings were mostly discussions about the problems and what possible solutions we could come up with. Unfortunately, a few of the meetings broke down, general discussions turning into outright arguments. To her credit, Diana did a fairly decent job at trying to keep the meetings on track, but since she has a tendency to veer off-topic from time to time, we found ourselves discussing other matters more than once. I was also pleasantly surprised by Arthur; once he settled in and resigned himself to the fact that the subcommittee existed and existed for a reason, he ended up being that true voice of dissenting opinion that we were hoping for. I think that "Devil's Advocate" role suits Arthur well. We quickly discovered, however, that our biggest obstacle wasn't a question of coming up with solutions, but rather a question of implementation... 

******

The PR Subcommittee members all glanced down at the information packets in front of them, silently flipping though the pages. This was the intricate and detailed plan that had been devised to counteract the negative publicity problem - the result of the last few months of meetings. 

"The plan is good," Superman confirmed upon finishing the last page. "I think this will at least help to bring a much more positive light to the League in general." 

J'onn and Diana nodded in agreement while Arthur simply scoffed as he finished his packet. "I still don't see how this will help," the Atlantian grunted. "Public appearances, personal interviews, disclosure statements... it's all window dressing. It's reactionary and it _looks_ reactionary..." 

"You would prefer an all out assault on the entire international press community?" Diana retorted.

"I would _prefer_ not to do any of this..." he grumbled under his breath. Ever the pragmatist, however, Arthur approached the next logical step. "Okay, so how to we implement all of this?" 

Diana paused, looking at Arthur for a moment. "What do you mean, Arthur?" 

"I mean," Arthur replied, "how _exactly_ do we make this happen? What, we just stroll into the Daily Planet or the Gotham Post offices and say 'Hey, print this for us'?" 

"That is a good point," Clark admitted. "While the Planet has long been a staunch supporter of the League and the Community in general, we can't just assume that they're going to splash Page One with our suggested headlines just because we ask them to..."

"Why wouldn't they?" Diana responded matter-of-factly. "Our names do carry a bit of weight in the public realm. I'm sure we could convince the Planet to run anything we ask them to."

"Well, that may or may not be true, Diana," Clark responded. "Perry will print anything he considers _news_, but assuming that they'll print anything we ask is stretching it a bit. Besides, getting the Planet to run a story is one thing, but most of these ideas require _national_ press coverage. That kind of promotional push takes quite a bit of footwork."

"I'm sure that's something we can handle," Diana retorted, suddenly getting somewhat defensive. "We're a pretty capable group..."

"We're capable when it comes to handling invading aliens and cataclysmic world threats," J'onn answered, "but I'll be the first to admit I don't know anything about publishing official statements or setting up television interviews. And I'd be willing to bet that none of you do either."

"I can help somewhat in the newspaper department," Clark offered. "Other than that, I think we're a little 'behind the curve'..."

The subcommittee members looked around at one another, the sudden realization that in all of their planning, they had never discussed how to actually put the plan into action. Each of them shrugged and shook their heads in turn, Diana finally speaking up. 

"It cannot be that difficult gentlemen," she chided lightly. "Surely we can figure out how to do this kind of thing. We've held press conferences before. We've done public interviews before..."

"Well," Superman replied, "those are usually set up for us - the press normally approaches us. What we're talking about now is initiating the process ourselves; a process we know about in theory, but in practice..."

"Fine," Diana retorted, "then what about hiring someone to do it for us?" 

Arthur threw his hands up in disgust. "Not that ridiculous PR agent thing again..."

"It's not ridiculous Arthur," Diana replied. "We're obviously not prepared to handle this ourselves, so why not bring in a little outside assistance?"

"I'll tell you why not!" Arthur answered, then calmed himself. "I agreed to be on this committee in order to help try to counteract what everyone else perceived as a potential threat to the team. But now you're talking about bringing in a complete stranger in order to solve the problem for us! Never mind the potential security risks involved with bringing someone like that on board, the entire concept of bringing someone in to handle our entire 'public image' is ludicrous!"

"I'm not suggesting we turn the whole project over to an outside source, Arthur," Diana interrupted. "I'm merely suggesting that we seek some outside consultation. We will still be handling our own 'public image', I just think we need to get a little help in how to go about it..."

"I understand where you are coming from, Diana," J'onn offered. "But, I also see Arthur's point. Bringing in an outsider does open up possible security and safety concerns..."

"We're not talking about hiring Luthor or Neron here, folks." Superman attempted to ease the growing tension before it got out of control. "We're talking about a normal person who may be able to bring a little more expertise to the situation..."

The committee members traded glances for a silent moment. "Oracle," Diana addressed the giant green holographic head floating over the table, "what do you think?" 

The room was silent again as all eyes locked onto the strangely motionless head. 

"ORACLE, what are your thoughts on this?" Diana reiterated impatiently. 

"I...think...Diana makes an excellent point," the head suddenly responded. "One that needed to be discussed. Maybe she'll go into a little more detail for us."

Arthur and J'onn traded disappointed and incredulous stares as Diana replied. 

"Certainly, Oracle. I think what we need is..."

******

Kyle glanced down at his watch. "They should be here by now," he muttered to himself, then got up off the couch and headed into the kitchen, grabbing a fresh beer. 

"Hey, baby." Jen's voice jolted him up out of the fridge. He turned to see her green-hued form strolling into the kitchen wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone. He absently kicked the refrigerator door closed and set his beer on the counter. 

"Whoa. Hey there, sexy," he hummed, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her gently. She moaned happily against his lips, then finally broke the kiss. 

"Mmmm... too bad you've got company coming tonight," she cooed, a sparkle in her eye. 

"Well shit," he chuckled, "I can always call and cancel..."

As if in response, there was a knock at the front door of the apartment. 

"Aw," Jen pouted playfully, "too late now." She slipped out of his arms, playfully sticking her tongue out at him and heading for the refrigerator herself. 

"Damn," Kyle grunted, chuckling. As she passed by, he smacked her playfully on the bottom, grabbed his beer off the counter and headed out of the kitchen, the sound of her gasping "Hey!" following him out. **_._**As he rounded the corner into the main room of the apartment, he called out toward the door. "C'mon in, guys. Door's open." 

The door knob jiggled slightly, then there was a loud thump against the door. Kyle snickered lightly, still heading toward the door. "Oops, I guess not," he called out, chuckling to himself. He opened the door to see Wally rubbing his forehead and Eel behind him snickering and giving Kyle a thumbs up. 

"Dick," Wally spat, chuckling as well as he walked into the apartment carrying a small plastic bag. 

"Hey guys. How's it goin'?" Kyle greeted cheerily as Eel came in behind Wally. 

"Pretty good!" Eel chirped before morphing into a giant ball and bouncing across the room and landing with a thump in the large recliner in the living room area. Kyle turned a questioning glance in Wally's direction, who just shrugged in answer. 

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" Kyle offered as Wally headed toward the couch.

"Beer!" they both answered in unison. Kyle chuckled again, then headed back into the kitchen. Jen, now making herself a sandwich, waited for Kyle to pass on his way to the fridge and slapped his butt in return. Kyle grabbed two more beers out of the fridge, then turned back to her, grinning mischievously. 

"Ooo, baby," he delivered in monotone, causing her to roll her eyes before returning to her sandwich. Laughing, he walked back out into the living room and handed the other two their drinks before flopping down on the couch. Wally was apparently in mid-story.

"So, he pulls me aside after the meeting, saying he needs to talk to me." Wally turned to Kyle and upon noticing the slightly confused look on his face offered "BB" as an explanation. "BB", Kyle knew, was short for "Big Blue" -- Superman. Then, Kyle remembered Superman pulling Wally aside after their last meeting and realized Wally was explaining why. He nodded in understanding so Wally continued.

"We walked into the Rec Room and he immediately goes over to the pool table and starts racking the balls. Now, I'm thinking this is kind of weird... he says he wanted to talk to me and he's setting up a pool game? But I just decided to go along with it. I mean, Supes decides he wants to talk over a game a pool, that's fine with me. So, as soon as I break, he starts: 'Thank you for dinner', 'We had a really great time', blah, blah, blah..."

"Wait," Kyle interrupted, realizing he'd missed part of the setup for the story. "Dinner?" 

"Yeah," Wally explained, "he and Lois were in Keystone last week covering some big political debate thing for the DP. Linda thought it would be nice to invite them out to dinner one night, so we did." After Kyle nodded in understanding, Wally went on. "So he's thanking me for dinner, talking about how we should all try to do things like that more often. He said Lois and he both enjoyed the company and Lois really enjoyed meeting Linda... you get the picture. Then he starts asking about Dick and Barbara -- how the weeding plans were coming along, how excited were they -- stuff like that. He seemed to be really excited about the whole prospect of their wedding. So then, just as I'm lining up for another shot, he looks right at me and asks: 'So when are you and Linda going to settle down and _get married_?'!" 

Kyle, who had been mid-sip, choked on his beer, almost spitting it out all over the living room. He coughed a few times once he got the liquid down, then turned an incredulous stare at Wally. "What?!"

"Hand to God, man," Wally affirmed, raising his right hand slightly. " 'When are you and Linda going to settle down and get married.' His exact words. I couldn't believe it." 

"No shit," Eel agreed, laughing. "What did you do?" 

"Well, I damn near jumped the cueball off the table. Once I finally processed what he had actually said, I told him that we _were_ engaged, but we just haven't set a date yet -- which apparently, he didn't know. He told me that was good and congratulated me then kept on with the game. It was... surreal."

"I'd bet," Kyle responded. "Gettin' the Parental Talk from Big Blue like that..."

"Yeah, but the weird thing was, it wasn't really all that 'Parental'. I mean, it was conversational... more like curiosity than actual condescension. It was... disconcerting."

"That's our Supes," Eel chimed in. "He can talk down to you without it feeling like he's talking down to you. You hear what he says and it makes sense at the time, then 4 hours later, when you're sitting in your apartment it dawns on you that he was preaching at you all along and you're like _DOING_! 'Hey! Wait a minute..' "

The other two laughed, not so much at what Eel said but rather that on the "_DOING_" sound effect, Eel's head had stretched out to twice its normal size and morphed into a bizarre looking face. Eel saw his friends laughing and jiggled the big head around comically a bit before shrinking it back to normal size, a smile on his face. 

"Y'know, if you think about it," Kyle responded, once he stopped laughing, "Supes is probably just all hopped up on this wedding thing. He hears that someone's gettin' hitched and now he's got bells in his eyes -- wanting to see all of his 'young friends' getting married..." 

"Which means," Wally joked with a grin, "that you're probably next." When Kyle's eyes widened in realization-horror, Wally slipped into the best Midwest-Farmboy drawl he could muster. "So, Kyle, when are you and the little lady gonna tie the knot?" 

"Whenever we damn well feel like it," Jen replied as she stepped out of the kitchen and into the conversation, sandwich plate in one hand and diet soda in the other. "Hi guys." 

"Hey Jen!" Wally greeted, smiling. 

"Da-amn, Jennie-Jade," Eel enthused, eyes bulging comically, "You are lookin' Double-F FFine tonight!" 

"EEL!" Kyle yelped. "Dude! That's my _girlfriend_!"

"So what if she's your girlfriend. That doesn't stop her from bein' a Grade-A P.O.A.!" 

"DUDE!" Kyle gaped incredulously. 

"Oh please, Kyle" Jen chuckled, "he's no worse than Guy... I think I can handle it. Thanks, Eel... I think. So what are you guys up to tonight?"

Wally reached into the small bag he brought with him and pulled out a DVD case, presenting it like a trophy. "The Osbournes, Season 1!" 

Jen's face twisted in a disgusted look. "Ugh. Reality TV crap?"

Wally gasped in mock offense. "Blasphemy! No, it's not Reality TV, it's Surreality TV! It's The Osbournes -- they put the 'Fun' back in Dysfunctional!"

Jen shook her head, smiling weakly. "I still don't get your fascination with that crap, Wally." 

"Oh, c'mon. It's _Ozzy_! The walking, talking Posterboy for the dangers of over-indulgence! It's funny!" Wally argued.

"I fail to see how a burnt-out Heavy Metal madman bumbling around the house and screaming at his wife and kids is funny, but to each his own. You boys enjoy your evening. Kyle, I'll be playing on the 'puter if you need anything." 

"Thanks, baby," Kyle replied, leaning his head back on the couch to look back at her.

"If you're lookin' for something to play on..." Eel started, then was immediately silenced by a giant green construct-hand covering his mouth. He looked over at Kyle who was glowering at him with his own little version of the BatGlare, his fist raised in Eel's direction and his Lantern ring glowing fiercely. Eel offered an innocent look in reply. 

"Alright, ladies," Wally interrupted, chuckling. "If you're through playing touchy-feely, let's get down to business." Hopped off the couch and zipped over to the entertainment center, tossing the first DVD from the set into the player and returning to his seat in the time it took Kyle's construct to dissipate. 

The trio giggled continuously through the first few episodes, reveling in the antics of the burned-out Heavy Metal Prince of Darkness and his oddball brood. In the middle of the third episode, Wally felt a light tapping on his shoulder. He turned to see Eel's arm stretching across the space between them, his hand now motioning toward the other side of the couch. Wally turned, then caught the laugh in his throat at the sight of Kyle passed out, his head leaning over and using the high padded arm as a pillow. Wally turned back to Eel, who was grinning mischievously, a strange twinkle in his overly-widened eyes. The man of plastic's head slowly turned toward the opposite corner of the room... toward Kyle drawing desk. 

Nearing the end of the fourth episode, a particularly loud "SHAR-RON!" from the TV shook Kyle from his unconscious state. He blinked a few times, catching his bearings, then slowly raised his head up off the couch arm and glanced over at Wally and Eel in turn. Both seemed to be intently watching the screen. Wally slowly glanced back over at Kyle, a wide smile on his face. 

"Hey bud. Welcome back to the land of the living," the speedster joked. 

"Whew. Sorry about that guys. I guess I was more tired than I thought," Kyle apologized. 

"No problemo, mon ami," Eel answered, ignoring the complete mangling of several languages at once. "You just missed the best parts. Sharon and Jack throwing meat at the neighbors..."

Kyle chuckled, remembering the scene from the first time he saw the episode. Once the fourth episode ended, Wally got up and stretched, heading over to the DVD player and retrieving the disk. Kyle was too busy yawning to catch the quick wink and nod toward the door that Wally gave Eel.

"Well, I think Eel and I are going to head out..." Wally said to Kyle.

"You guys don't have to leave," Kyle protested weakly, still a bit groggy. "I'm fine. Really..."

"Nah, it's alright m'man. You look beat. It's written all over your face..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle thought he saw Eel convulse slightly, but when he turned to regard his pliable buddy, Eel simply stood straight up, collecting his empty beer bottles. 

"I'm sorry, guys..." Kyle offered, yawning again. 

"Don't worry about it, Kylie," Eel replied cheerily before handing his bottles to Wally. The speedster zipped away into the kitchen, disposing of the bottles then came back out to meet up with Eel by the door. 

"We'll catch up with you later, loser." Wally kidded, slapping Kyle playfully on the arm. 

Kyle closed the door behind them and, if he had been awake and aware enough, he probably would have caught the laughter zipping away from his door at 500 miles an hour. As it was, he merely shuffled along the hallway back toward the spare bedroom he and Jennie used as a computer room. Jennie sat at her computer, her back to the door. Kyle strolled up behind her, leaned down and kissed the top of her head, his hands running down over her shoulders and wrapping around her waist. 

She moaned lightly in response as she clicked the next row of boxes on the on-line crossword puzzle she was doing. "Mmm. Hey baby."

"Hello yourself, gorgeous," Kyle replied, glancing down over her head and catching a glimpse down her partially opened shirt. "Nice view..." he whispered. 

"Eel certainly seemed to think so," she replied chuckling. 

"Yeah," Kyle answered rolling his eyes. "Sorry about that. That's Eel for ya. The words 'Eel O'brian' and 'tactful' don't belong in the same sentence unless there's a 'not' in between them somewhere." 

Jennie chuckled again, returning her attention to the puzzle. "Okay, smart-guy. What's a seven letter word for 'a necessity for all men'?"

"Bed," he offered. 

"That's only three letters, doofus." 

"No, I meant that's a necessity for _this_ man," he explained, his hands slowly running up over her front, eliciting a small sigh from her lips. "Care to join?" 

"Well, since you put it that way..." she answered, stopping suddenly as she turned her chair around to look at him. Her eyes went wide in shock and her hand immediately shot up to her mouth. 

Kyle's head jerked back slightly, a confused look on his face. "That... certainly wasn't the response I was looking for... What? What is it?" 

Her hand slowly moved down away from her mouth as she continued to stare at his face. "Y-you fell asleep out there, didn't you?" She couldn't hide the laughter in her own voice as she spoke. 

"Y-yes..." he replied slowly, still confused. Realization suddenly landed on his head and his eyes widened. Without a word, he ran toward the bathroom, Wally's words from earlier suddenly filling his mind:

__

It's written all over your face.

He stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light and stared into the mirror. What looked back at him was his own face, with a set of backward letters written in the unmistakable black ink from his indelible Pigma Micron inker's pen (size 08): 

****

!!RESOL

******

****

Transcript: The Rich Radar Radio Show. Show #354 (cont.)  
© Radar Entertainment Inc. Westwood One Radio Networks.  
(Segment 6)

****

Rich Radar: Welcome back to the Radar Zone, folks. I'm Rich Radar, your host for the festivities. Our topic today: Metahumans. Unless you've been living under a rock for the last three decades, you know what I'm talking about. The men and women, blessed with all sorts of powers and abilities who protect us on a daily basis from crime, corruption, invasion -- sometimes even ourselves. Who hasn't seen the reports on TV and in the newspapers. Who doesn't get that little bit of a jolt when we see the Justice Society or the Titans or even the Justice League performing some daring rescue live and in color. Some of us have even seen these brightly-clad warriors in person a time or two. It's exciting. It's thrilling. And sometimes, it's even a little scary. For some people, the existence of these Superheroes is so ingrained that they hardly even think of it until it's staring them right in the face, but we all sleep a little better at night knowing that there are those few individuals out there who put their lives on the line on a daily basis for our protection. 

****

RR: But of course, as it is with all things, there is a flip side to all of this. There are those Metahumans out there who use their abilities to harm others. These aptly-named "Supervillains" thrive on destruction, disorder and chaos and most of them will stop at nothing to accomplish their own personal agendas, be it world domination or destruction of a particular hero. They are the "yang" to the Superhero "yin", the ultimate evil battling against the ultimate good. And sometimes to cost is pretty high. 

(Pause)

My guest this segment has a decidedly different take on the Metahuman phenomenon. His new book, The Meta-Menace, is in stores now. Ladies and Gentlemen, please help me welcome Dr. Leon McKinley to the Radar Zone. Welcome Dr. McKinley. 

****

Leon McKinley: Thank you, Mister Radar.

****

RR: Please, call me Rich. This is the Radar Zone. 

****

LM: Very well. 

****

RR: Quite an accent there, Doctor. Alabama?

****

LM: (Chuckles) Mississippi, actually. Born and Raised. 

****

RR: Ah. So, Doctor McKinley, I read through your book and it seems to me that you perceive _all_ Metahumans as a threat, is that correct?

****

LM: Yes.

****

RR: So you make no delineation between superhero or supervillain?

****

LM: Last year, roughly fifty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty people were injured, permanently disabled or killed as a result of Meta-human activity. So no, I don't make a delineation...

****

RR: Wait, what was that number again?

****

LM: Fifty-seven thousand, two hundred and fifty. And I don't just mean victims of "villainous" activities. You've seen the reports and watched these larger than life battles unfold - how many times have you seen one of these battle's participants crash through a crowded building? Or land on top of a parking lot full of cars? How many of these battles have you watched that include gigantic explosions that level half a city block? Never mind the _billions_ of dollars spent each year repairing the damage from these battles, the innocent by-standers injured or killed as a result of these battles...

****

RR (Interrupting): Hold on a minute. We've all seen that whenever something like that happens that most of the heroes first concern is the safety of those around them. We've seen the Justice League or the Titans doing their best to get all innocent by-standers out of harm's way whenever something like that happens...

****

LM: Oh, I agree! Don't get me wrong, their efforts have not gone unnoticed. However, think of how much higher the injury count would be if they didn't! Their best efforts are still resulting in over fifty-seven thousand injuries and deaths a year. That's a pretty lousy track record for doing their "best"...

****

RR: But that toll would be even greater if they did nothing! That count would be astronomical if the villains were left alone...

****

LM: But at what cost? The cost of innocent lives? Don't tell me that the ends justify the means, or that "you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs". We're the eggs in that equation, Mr. Radar. You and me and all of the other innocent human beings on this planet are the only real victims here. We're the ones who suffer while these Meta-humans soar off into the sky leaving a trail of destruction and death in their wake. And who gets left footing the bill? We do. 

****

RR: What do you mean, "footing the bill"?

****

LM: Seventy-nine percent of all of the Insurance companies in this country deny any claim where the cause of damage or injury is Meta-human related. 

****

RR: Seventy Nine? 

****

LM: Yes, seventy-nine percent. And more and more companies are taking that stance every day. According to most of these companies, it's "cost prohibitive" to provide coverage for Meta-human related damages. And it shows in the remaining twenty-one percent: their premiums are much higher than those who do not cover Meta-human damages. There are actually insurance companies out there right now providing "Meta-human Insurance" for a separate - and exorbitant - fee. 

****

RR: Well, it's the same for Fire insurance. Or Flood insurance...

****

LM: Not quite. You see fires, floods - as I'm sure you are all aware - are referred to by the insurance companies as Acts of God and the reason for the extra insurance coverage for these acts is not only because they are extensively damaging, but also because they are so unpredictable. Insurance companies base their rates on certain predictable criteria - like the likelihood that your house will get robbed depending upon how high the crime rate is in your area. Natural disasters, since they are so unpredictable, are charged at a higher separate rate due in no small part to that unpredictability. To their thinking, however, Meta-human damage is considered more predictable in that the cause of the damage is human error or human behavior - conscious beings making a conscious decision to engage in these activities. And conscious beings have the ability to stop themselves. So the insurance companies list the damages as human fault and charge an additional rate for coverage because of the normal extent of damage. 

****

RR: I see. And I suppose that the only way that the insurance companies can recoup their costs is to pass the charges along in higher premiums. 

****

LM: Exactly. And the medical insurance for these victims is not much better. 

****

RR: Which is where your organization comes in.

****

LM: Nice segue. (Chuckles) 

****

RR: Thanks. (Laughs) My producer tells me it's what I'm best at. 

(Both laugh)

****

LM: Yes, that is where we come in. PACE is a non-profit organization designed, in part, to provide financial and legal support for victims of these Meta-human caused catastrophes and their families. We are also applying pressure to the insurance companies to regulate the costs of Meta-human insurance as well as pushing the US government to enact more stringent legislation on the insurance companies and on all Meta-humans operating within the United States. We have been in contact with the office of the Secretary of Meta-Human Affairs to try and get some more cooperation on a federal level. Unfortunately, just as no one is regulating the insurance industry, no one is regulating these Meta-humans' behavior either. 

****

RR: Whoa! Regulating their _behavior_?

****

LM: Why not? We regulate our own behavior, don't we? We have laws concerning alcohol consumption. We have regulations concerning gun ownership. We have laws regarding drug abuse, motor vehicles, waste disposal, and so on... it's no different. All of these laws that we use to govern behavior are enacted out of concerns for Public Safety. And that's all we're suggesting when it comes to the Meta-humans - it's a matter of Public Safety. 

****

RR: Well, some may argue that the Superhero "community" has a history of governing itself - that Metahumans can regulate their own behavior...

****

LM: And to those people, I'd say that I can think of about fifty-seven thousand families that are likely to disagree. 

__

(Music bed starts)

****

RR: Well, that music means we're out of time. Dr. McKinley, thank you so much for joining us today on the Radar Zone. 

****

LM: Thank you for having me. 

****

RR: Anytime, doctor. You've certainly given us all a lot to think about. Alright folks, coming up in the next hour: Rap music - Mindless entertainment or Mind Poison aimed at little kids. My analysis and your phone calls coming up, after these commercial messages...

(cont.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To be continued...


	3. Q&A

****

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

Leon McKinley, the ever-growing thorn in our sides. Unbeknownst to us, he had slowly been gaining a following using the growing popularity of talk radio programs and political viewpoint television shows. He seemed to be a master at working that system to the Nth degree. 

For the most part, we chose to ignore it - truth was, it was really nothing new. Every few years or so, some radical fringe group or political idealist would pop up, espousing the horrors of the Superhero community and make things a little difficult for us. We'd weathered these attacks before, we knew we would weather this one. It was a bit of arrogance on the part of the League as a whole... and an arrogance that would come back to haunt us later. 

For the most part, though, we were focussed mainly on the task at hand: finding our PR agent. We quickly discovered that the normal methods for procuring such resources wouldn't exactly work for us. It's not like we could send out a cluster of RFP's, hoping to garner interest. News like that would have certainly brought us under the very spotlight we were trying to avoid. So we decided that discretion was our best option. 

We set to the task of researching the business, trying to locate those who had risen above the rest. We wanted the best. We searched all avenues of the industry - Washington insiders, big business PR directors, entertainment agencies... the list went on and on. We eventually narrowed our search and focussed in on making a list of ten: the ten best Public Relations agencies money could buy. From there, we hand selected ten applicants that, on paper, represented the most successful and most effective in the Public Relations industry. 

Then, we contacted each of those ten individuals discreetly through several channels - Diana's Washington connections, Clark's press credentials, Oracle's web expertise... even a few visits from me in various guises. Through these channels, we requested the presence of each of these ten individuals for an important (and secret) meeting to discuss "acquiring their services for a large, multi-national, highly-visible peace organization." 

Meanwhile, Oracle was able to put together applicant packages on each of the individuals we were looking at. Résumés, press kits, examples of previous work, full work histories, financials, psychological and personality profiles, full medical records (we didn't ask how...), etc. We reviewed each applicant as thoroughly as possible, then decided on a day for interviews. 

Diana met with each of them in private at the designated times, escorting them to a teleport tube and up onto the Watchtower. None of the applicants knew exactly who they were meeting with until they arrived at the Watchtower for their interview...

*****

"You're the J-J-Ju-Ju-J-J-..."

"Justice League," Superman prompted. 

"Y-yeah...uh... wow... " David Williams sputtered, eyes wide as he stared across the table at the brightly clad collection of superheroes. He had been intrigued by the cryptic communications that led up to this meeting - deciding to go along with it just to find out who was behind it all. He had never expected...

"W-what is this a-a-a-about, exactly..." he stammered again, trying desperately to calm his pounding heart. 

"Relax, Mr. Williams," Superman said lightly, his voice remarkably soothing to the close-to-hyperventilating businessman. "We are interested in acquiring the services of a public relations agent for the League..."

"Y-you want a p-p-press agent?" Williams managed to say, somewhat surprised at the revelation. "B-b-but you're the J-J-Ju-Ju-Jus--"

"Justice League," Superman stated again. "Yes. You see, we've been having a few problems with our press coverage recently and so we're looking for some outside assistance..."

"Ou-ou-outside--- I- I- I- don't un-un-un-underst-stand..."

J'onn and Arthur quietly traded glances. 

::_This_ is who we want representing us to the press? If he sweats any more, we'll have to swim out of here...::

::He's nervous, Arthur. Give him a break. It can't be easy to be on the other side of this table.::

::Yeah, but if he's like this with us, how is he going to be in front of a room full of rabid reporters?::

::... ... Fair point...::

Superman continued his explanation, speaking in friendly, calm tones and smiling, trying to calm the obviously nervous man. "... the true story. So the five of us were elected to..."

"I-I'm sorry," Mr. Williams interrupted. "The f-five of you?" His eyes immediately started darting around the room. 

Superman glanced around as well, noting the occupants at the table. He smiled again, realizing the error and called out, seemingly to no one. "Oracle? Could you join us, please."

The large, green holographic head appeared above the table. David William's eyes widened, then fluttered lightly. Suddenly, he fell forward, his head slamming into the table top. The League members glanced around at each other as Wonder Woman stood quickly and rounded the table to Mr. William's side. She nudged his shoulder gently. "Mr. Williams? Mr. Williams!" 

J'onn and Arthur again traded glances. It was going to be a long afternoon... 

*****

Dick Grayson was a patient man. His years both as Batman's sidekick and as Bruce Wayne's ward had taught him a great many things, one of the key ones being an incredible sense of patience. So it was without any sense of irritation or anxiety that he sat in the galley of Titans Tower, glancing up at the wall clock as the seconds ticked passed 3:02 PM. 

He chuckled to himself, knowing that his 3 o'clock "appointment" would be 5 minutes late. Not 6 minutes, not 4 minutes and 30 seconds, but _exactly_ 5 minutes late. Such was the normal habit. Dick stood, walked over to the kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of coffee, then returned to the table. Truth was, he had plenty of things to occupy his mind while he waited - what with the upcoming nuptials, Babs still arguing over the whole affair with Papa Gordon, Bruce and Selina chasing down Riddler and his strange little crime-wave... and trying to decide if Selina was really the one to go to for his little... favor...

On instinct, his eyes flicked up toward the clock. 3:04.42. He smirked lightly, rose from his seat, then glanced down at his watch, eyeing the second hand as it slowly made its sweep up the left hand side of the face. Once it passed the "11", he turned his attention to the doorway, counting down quietly with lips and fingers. 

"5..4..3..2.."

He pointed toward the door, like a live TV stage manager giving a cue, then paused, his brow furrowing. He had just enough time to consider that something was seriously wrong when the expectant scarlet _WHOOOSH!_ filled the room

"Sorrysorrysorrysorry..." Wally rambled apologetically as he came to a halt right in front of Dick. "School Bus accident in Philly... had to stop by on my way..." 

Dick chuckled at his long time friend, waving a dismissive hand. "No problem, bro." Dick glanced down at his mug, then over toward the kitchen counter. "Coff... ee?" 

No sooner had the word left his mouth than Wally was back standing in front of him, his own steaming mug of coffee in his hand. Wally took a sip, then set the mug down on the table, taking a seat as Dick did the same. 

"So, what's this about Dick?"

"Well... there's something I want to ask you, but..." Dick looked at his friend, smiling. "Actually, can you do me a favor: would you change out of costume? This is kind of a 'Dick/Wally' discussion, not a Nightwing/Flash discussion..." 

Wally opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused. He appeared to think for a moment, then tried again. "Yeah... uh... about that... I-I'd kinda rather stay in costume... I've gotta go right back to Philly when we're done here...and I'd rather not have to keep changing and..."

"This from the guy who can change outfits in three-tenths of a second," Dick retorted, turning a confused stare in Wally's direction. The Titans had many discussions about the differences between "In-costume moments" and "Out-of-costume moments" over the years and Dick and Wally were usually the two who were always in total agreement during those discussions. Which made Wally's current hesitation all the stranger to Dick. 

"Yeah, well... uh..." Wally stammered. Dick then noticed something he very rarely saw in his speedster friend: Wally was fidgeting. Playing with the fingers of his glove, head slightly bowed as his eyes darted back and forth nervously. 

"What's wrong, Wals?" Dick asked, his voice hovering somewhere between friendly concern and Bat-interrogation. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's just... well... you see..." Wally continued. He finally glanced up at Dick, their eyes locking. He gave a resigned sigh, then looked plaintively at his friend. "Okay, just... do me a favor... promise me you won't laugh."

Dick's head recoiled lightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Laugh? Why would I..."

"Look, just..." Wally interrupted. "...just promise me."

Dick's confused expression turned to one of intrigue, bordering on mischievous. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sure, Wally," Dick replied slowly. "I promise..."

Wally sighed again, then slowly reached up and pulled the headpiece of his costume back off of his face.

Anyone who was even a simple acquaintance of Wally's would have immediately noticed a difference in his appearance. For most people, it probably would have been just a nagging subconscious thought that _something_ was different but they would take a few minutes to try and recognize what it was. New haircut? Colored contacts? Dye job? Dick Grayson, however, had a Bat-trained attention to detail so he had no problem spotting the difference immediately. He _was_ having a problem trying to keep his promise, though. His hand shot up to his mouth in a failed attempt at keeping the initial chuckle from escaping his lips but behind his hand, his mouth spread into a wide grin. Wally's shoulders slumped as he glared disgustedly at his friend and former teammate. 

"Uh, Wals?" Dick said from behind his hand, attempting to force the giggles back down his throat - and failing. "What... uh... what happened to your eyebrows?" 

*****

"Actually, we prefer 'Image Consultants'," the young woman (Applicant #3) bubbled, complete with air-quotes. 

"Ah," Diana glanced up from the applicant packet toward the smiling brunette. "Very well then, Ms. Fuqua."

"Oh, please. Just call me Bobbi Jo!" she pshaw-ed. 

"Very well, Bobbi Jo," Diana replied, smiling in return. "As the JLA's Public Rela... excuse me, _Image Consultant_, what sort of ideas could you bring to the table?"

"Well, the way I see it," the young woman gushed, "your primary problem right now is a lack of visibility. Which is surprising, quite honestly. I mean, sure people know who you are, but they don't really know anything about you. What are your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies... people really love that stuff. Makes you seem more... approachable. Take Mr. Pointy over there. Long blonde hair, great face, body to die for... I mean, just in the 12-21 female demographic alone..."

*****

"Rayner," Wally spat in response, running a hand over the now bare patch on his brow. 

"Wait," Dick replied aghast, "you mean to tell me that Kyle Rayner - your fellow Justice League member and close buddy - _shaved off both of your eyebrows_?!?"

"Worse," Wally muttered in response, then continued when confusion again fell on Dick's face. "He shaved _one_ of my eyebrows off -- just to provide me the further indignity of having to shave the second one off myself in order to match..."

Dick was unable to stop the laugh that time - to which Wally responded with a sarcastic smile and a middle finger. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Wally replied sardonically. "At least the suit covers it up and with my sped-up metabolism they'll only take about a week or so to grow back..."

"Don't you think this little... thing between you and Kyle has gone on long enough?" Dick asked once his laughter had finally died down. 

"Yeah, we should probably stop before it goes _too_ far," Wally conceded. "I was actually thinking about calling a truce." A small mischievous grin appeared on Wally's face. "After I've gotten him back for this one, of course."

Dick rolled his eyes, still chuckling. 

"Anyway, I'm sure you didn't call me out here just to laugh at my misfortune," Wally stated, purposefully ignoring Dick's response. In a blur, Wally disappeared for a moment, then suddenly reappeared in his chair, now in jeans and a T-shirt as the Flash suit collapsed down and slid back into the compartment in Wally's ring. "What's this all about?" 

"Well," Dick replied smiling, "I've got something I'd like to ask you about..." He'd been through similar discussions twice already, but he still found that he had butterflies in his stomach. He took a deep breath - this hadn't gotten any easier - and started in on his prepared speech.

"I wanted to talk to you a bit about my upcoming wedding. As is probably true with most grooms, I've been left out of about 99.9% of the decisions and planning when it comes to this wedding - which, I've decided, is probably more of a blessing than a curse. However, the one main thing I am responsible for is selecting my groomsmen. I thought long and hard about this decision and came to the conclusion that it was important for me to pick people who best represented all the main parts of my life. The first one was easy: Tim. Not only is he like my little brother, as the current Boy Wonder, he's the perfect embodiment of that part of me - the Robin/Bat-Family side. My second choice was for my Dick Grayson side - the normal, 'civilian' part of my life and my old college roommate Steve immediately came to mind - he was such an integral part in helping me determine who I was as a _person_ outside of the "hero life" that he just seemed to fit perfectly. This, of course, brings me to my third choice: The Nightwing/Titans side. I decided I needed to include someone from the old team. You guys were like my second family and there's no way I would be who I am today if it weren't for all of you. So I wanted to pick someone who has been a close, personal friend for me throughout the history of the Titans..."

"Yes," Wally interrupted, smiling wide. 

"Y-yes?" Dick stammered, caught a little off guard by being interrupted mid-stream.

"Yes." Wally reiterated, "I think I see where you're going here and I agree..." 

Dick smiled wide, surprised that Wally had picked it up so quickly.

"...I think Roy is the perfect choice!" Wally beamed. 

Or not. Dick laughed lightly. "No, Wally. I was thinking about you!" 

"Me?!" 

"Yes, Wally. You. You've always been a good friend to me and you've always been there when I needed you. Back in the 'old days', one of the main reasons why I was never too worried when we went into action was because I _always_ knew that you had my back. I always felt confident knowing that you were standing by my side. You have been a remarkable teammate and a dear friend. So I'm asking you, one more time, to stand by my side for the one event that I'm sure will be more harrowing and daunting for me than _anything_ we ever faced in the Titans."

Wally stared in shock, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "I-I'd be honored," he replied, now smiling wide. Both men stood and shook hands, then pulled together in a friendly embrace. 

"Thank you," Dick whispered into his friend's ear before releasing the hug. 

"No, thank _you_," Wally replied. "And I don't think I've told you yet how happy I am for you. Barbara's a wonderful woman and I think you two are going to be so happy together." 

"Thanks. I'll fill you in on all the details later: monkey-suit rentals, rehearsal dinner and wedding schedule, blah, blah, blah. I just wanted to make sure you'd be up for it first." 

"Of course!" Wally beamed. 

Dick's smile faded into a wicked grin as he turned his focus on Wally's missing eyebrows once more. "And hopefully, those will grow back by then." 

Wally's face soured playfully. A half-second later, Wally suddenly appeared in his Flash costume, his gloved hand held out in front of him, his thumb and forefinger holding out a few small, prickly black hairs. It took a full two (confused) seconds for Dick to register the tingling pain at the corner of his own eyebrow. 

"Watch it, Grayson," Flash said with a wink. "Or mine won't be the only eyebrows you'll be worried about growing back in time." He waggled his nonexistent eyebrows under the mask, then disappeared in another scarlet _WHOOOSH_! leaving Dick standing alone in the Titan's Tower galley, chuckling. 

*****

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Superman looked up from the press packet he was thumbing through to glance across the table at the applicant. 

"A Full Disclosure Agreement," Richard Offenbach (Applicant #6) repeated, matter-of-factly. "It's pretty standard nowadays. We at Firetti, Offenbach and Cho find that the only way to truly represent our clients effectively is to be fully informed. To that end, all of our clients must sign a Full Disclosure Agreement. You'll find an example in that press packet I provided."

There was a great shuffling of paper around the table as all of the interviewers searched for the document. Superman scanned through it quickly, his eyes getting wider and wider.

"Wait a minute," Superman paused, looking incredulously across the table. "It says here: 'All known aliases, identities and personal relationships... how exactly does that factor into a _business_ arrangement?"

"As I said, we find that only through knowing the whole story can we effectively..."

"Whoa!" J'onn interrupted. "What do you mean by this:" he continued, reading directly from the document: "_In the event of termination of any contract, Firetti, Offenbach and Cho retain all rights to any information and/or intellectual property acquired during the duration of said contract. This information may be used and/or distributed_... It sounds like you're saying that if we fire you, you can release any private information you've collected about us!!"

"Well, not _exactly_..." Offenbach smarmed. 

"Actually, I think that about sums up the meaning of that statement quite well, Mr. Offenbach," Oracle interrupted. "Or should I say, _Ms. Lupone_!" 

Richard blanched slightly, almost imperceptibly -- except that every super-powered eye at the table was suddenly locked onto his face. 

"I-I'm sorry?" the applicant stuttered, glancing nervously up at the floating green head. 

"You heard me, Ricky," came the terse, digital-sounding reply. "It seems that Mr. Offenbach here has quite a lucrative side business going as the trashy 'Tell-All' Biographer Lizzy Lupone. He uses these so-called 'standard' Full Disclosure Agreements to get all the nice juicy details about his clients, then when they don't renew their contract, he turns around and publishes the info under his pseudonym!"

"I- uh... " Offenbach gulped visibly and tugged nervously at his collar. He was suddenly feeling rather warm - probably due to the eight penetrating eyes now focussed solely in his direction. 

*****

"Sonuva bitch..." Green Arrow muttered to himself, planting a well-placed boot into ribs of the last gang member to go down. His head slowly panned back and forth over the mass of unconscious bodies strewn about the warehouse floor, a sneer on his lips. They all wore black and tan jackets with large red setting sun symbols on the backs; the insignia for The Ho-Sing Gang. Ho-Sings were Asian drug runners - former Yazukas now transporting and selling narcotics throughout the US. 

Green Arrow had been tracking this particular crew for a few weeks - starting back in Star City. Thanks to the new Mayor and his "Crack Down on Drugs" program (which Ollie knew was laughable in and of itself - considering the Mayor was one of the biggest buyers in the market), Star City harbor had been crawling with Harbor Patrol and Coast Guard for the last month. 

"Friggin' Dog and Pony show," Green Arrow had intoned repeatedly, as he tracked the Ho-Sing crew across the country. They were obviously looking for a new - if temporary - port to bring in their product, ending up in this warehouse. In Gotham City. 

__

His city, Ollie had thought with a derisive chuckle. He was aware of Batman's standing rules about members of the Costumed Set visiting Gotham City - that they should all make Batman aware of their presence. To not do so would result in (at the very least) nasty rooftop confrontations complete with a frothing Bat. Ollie himself had been on the receiving end of those "chats" on more than one occasion, so he was well aware of the potential problems that his unknown presence in Gotham's warehouse district could cause. Unlike most of his cohorts - who either staunchly adhered to the Bat's policies and guidelines, making sure to give prior notification (sometimes even in writing... *cough*Clark*cough*) of their imminent arrival or, in most cases, simply avoided Gotham altogether - Ollie dealt with this knowledge in his own little way. He simply didn't care. 

Green Arrow was on a case and that case brought him to Gotham City. If the Dark Fascist had a problem with that then he was cordially invited to blow it out his dark-and-broody sphincter. Besides, Ollie was relatively certain Bats had a hand in the fact that he was still on the JLA Reservist List - not that Ollie was all that eager to be on the active roster at the moment, considering the current team. But it was the principle of the thing...

Green Arrow was shaken from his thoughts by the sounds of approaching sirens. Several years removed from their Far East homeland, many of the Ho-Sing thugs had Westernized their methods. Several of the formerly silent soldiers had traded in their shuriken for sidearms, their katanas for Swedish-K's. The warehouse battle had been less hand-to-hand than Ollie had expected - and quite a bit louder, hence the approaching sirens.

He turned to leave, sharp pain racing up his side. He glanced down, realizing that _some_ of the Ho-Sings still preferred the old methods, indicated by the shuriken protruding from his side about three inches above his waistline. In the adrenaline-fog of battle, he hadn't even noticed the wound. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the exposed end of the throwing star and yanked it out, a loud grunt of pain escaping his lips as the device pulled several chunks of flesh with it. He glanced down at it, only then noticing that each tine of the 8-pointed star had a flared tip, designed to do as much damage on the way out as it had on the way in. He cursed himself for not noticing before he had carelessly ripped the damned thing out. 

As the police sirens got closer, Ollie hastily exited the building, mounted his bike and drove off. He knew that Gotham's Finest would discover the Ho-Sing members as well as the crates loaded with cocaine... and probably a few of his trademark green arrows. A fact that would not go unnoticed by _Die Fledermaus_, to be sure, but he wasn't too concerned about that either. At the moment, his main concern was finding somewhere to patch himself up. Traveling cross-country back to Star City on a motorcycle with a gaping gut wound was not an option. 

Hospitals were out - hospitals asked too many questions, especially when you were dressed in elaborate clothing and brandishing a longbow. He briefly considered going to Dinah's apartment. She would no doubt have better medical supplies at home than he had available in his bike's medkit, but things with Dinah had been... iffy since his return. He didn't exactly want to show up on her doorstep unannounced, in need of repair. Not exactly the best way to re-endear yourself to a former lover. "Hi, Honey. Good to see you. Mind if I come in and bleed all over your apartment for a while?" 

He could always contact Batman... he laughed at his own thought, his hand immediately going to the shooting pain in his side. He needed a safe house - somewhere in Gotham City where he could lay low for a few hours and dress his wound. Some place out of the way and relatively off the Bat's radar... A small smirk crossed his lips and he gunned the engine of the motorcycle, speeding off toward the east end of town. 

Five minutes later, he sat inside an old, dilapidated boathouse in Gotham Harbor wrapping a bandage around his midsection. He remembered this place from years ago - his East Coast hidy-hole for the old Arrowboat. He had long since gotten rid of the boat, but had retained ownership of the boat house... for the life of him he couldn't remember why at that moment. He vaguely remembered something about gaining a small bit of satisfaction from keeping a small piece of real estate in Gotham right under the Bat's nose, but none of that really mattered now. He was only concerned about healing up a bit before the 3-day journey home. 

He had opened the large retractable doorway leading out into the harbor, moonlight spilling into the dusty old place. Not surprising, all the lights had burned out over time, but amazingly enough the structure still had power running to it, allowing him to use the push-button boat door opener to let in enough light for him to see the damage. He would undoubtedly need stitches, but for now some styptic glue and a tight wrap-bandage would hold his insides in place until he got home. He would get Conner to do the stitching - the kid was a whiz with that sort of thing. His thoughts drifted toward his son as he finished the wrap bandage and stared out of the boathouse door and across the dark water. 

*****

After the last interview had been escorted out, the subcommittee members sat around the conference table, going over the applicant's résumés and packets. They had been at it all day - roughly 1 hour for each interview - and the wear was starting to show. To her credit, Diana continued to maintain control of the post-interview meeting, the only one seemingly unfazed by the day's activities. She was going through each of the applicants and placing their packets in one of three piles: Yes, No and Maybe. She added yet another packet to the No pile, then picked up the next one. 

"The next applicant is Miss Diane Isis from the Olympus Agency," she addressed the table.

Arthur groaned again at the name, joined by a chuckle from J'onn. "Well," the Atlantian joked, "she certainly was the Goddess of Whine." 

J'onn laughed, a little more than a chuckle this time and Clark, despite himself, cracked a smile. Even Oracle's holographic head bobbled a little. Diana merely rolled her eyes. 

"Come now, Arthur," the Amazon chided. "She wasn't that bad..."

"Wasn't that bad?! Di, I've heard dolphins with less shrill voices."

"Her voice isn't the issue," Diana retorted, "she seemed exceptionally competent and capable of handling our unique needs..."

"I'll agree she had the qualifications, but do we really want the 'Public Voice of the League' to sound like... like..."

"Like The Nanny on helium?" Oracle provided the appropriate simile, prompting laughs from the rest of the table and a glower from Diana. Superman quickly composed himself and turned toward her. 

"All joking aside, Diana, Arthur does have a point," he admitted. "The PR agent will be not only aiding us with ideas for boosting our public image, but will also most likely be conducting press conferences on our behalf. While I have no doubt Miss Isis would be perfectly _capable_ of doing such, is that really the image we want to be projecting? I'll remind you that we already rejected Mr. Williams for similar reasons." 

"Fine," Diana grumbled, moving the Olympus Agency packet over the No pile. She paused, frowning at the piles: 1 in the Yes pile, 1 in the Maybe and 5 in the No pile. The Olympus packet hung over the No pile, gripped delicately in Diana's fingers, then shifted over the Maybe pile. 

"Let's consider her a Maybe," Diana intoned. "Her voice aside, she was one of our better applicants..."

The three men at the table glanced back and forth at each other, then each begrudgingly nodded their assent, not out of agreement with Diana's suggestion, but rather to avoid yet another round of pro-con bingo. Diana smiled, dropped the packet into the Maybe pile, then picked up the next packet. 

"Okay, then we have Ramona DeSlice from Foster & DeSlice." Diana read the name from the top of the packet. "A very good applicant, I thought. Charming, intelligent, capable with a lot of great ideas, if a little over-exuberant..."

"Uh... that would be a No." Oracle interrupted. 

Diana glared up at the floating head above the table. "And why is that," she replied, the polite exterior finally starting to give way to the length of the proceedings. 

"Well, something had been poking my brain about her from the get go, but I couldn't put a finger on it. She seemed okay, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow familiar. So I finally did some checking. Turn in your packets to her résumé and look at the third name on her 'Notable Clients' list."

All of them consulted their own copies of the packet, flipping through to find the appropriate page. Diana looked back up to the hologram, confused. 

"DEI, Inc?" Diana probed. "What about it?"

"DEI, Inc." Oracle responded. "Also known as DEMON Enterprises International."

"She worked for DEMON?!" Superman exclaimed, aghast.

"Well, the Demon's Head, to be more precise..." Oracle intoned. 

Suddenly, Superman snapped into business mode, standing from his chair and addressing each of them in turn. "Oracle, track down Miss DeSlice immediately. J'onn, contact Batman, let him know what's going on and get his input. Diana..."

"Superman wait!" Oracle called out, stopping the Man of Steel mid-command. "It's not a problem..."

"Not a problem?!" he retorted. "This woman had direct contact with Ra's al Ghul within the last year and then shows up for an interview with us here on the Watchtower and you're telling me this isn't a problem?!" 

"Well, I don't think she's exactly a welcome party in the DEMON compound, if that's what you're worried about. In fact, I'm kind of surprised she's still alive quite frankly. I don't think they were very... happy with her services."

"Care to explain that?" Superman's commanding voice was starting to wane.

"I can think of four words that will sum the whole thing up..." Oracle paused as all eyes locked onto the floating hologram above the table. If he didn't know any better, J'onn could have sworn she was pausing for simple dramatic effect. 

"Ra's on The View," came the simple answer. 

The whole room froze, everyone staring at Oracle. It was Superman who finally broke the silence: "That was _her_?" 

"Yep." 

Arthur and J'onn glanced at each other, then immediately broke into uproarious laughter. Both Superman and Wonder Woman glared at them, which only spurred them on more. Eventually, Clark dropped back into his chair, allowing a smile to creep across his lips. "Okay Oracle. Point taken. Still, will you please keep an eye on Miss DeSlice's activities and let us know of any strange occurrences."

"Will do, Big Blue." Oracle responded. 

Diana harrumphed in J'onn and Arthur's direction, then resignedly picked up the last packet. "Moving on," she prompted, a bit louder than necessary. "The last applicant is Stephen Lawrence from Lawrence, Mohammed & Curlae..." 

She glanced at the three men sitting around the table. The trio traded glances, then all turned back to Diana, responding in unison. "No."

Aggravated, she wanted to argue, wanted to provide them a litany of reasons why they were all being pig-headish and stupid about this whole thing and that Mr. Lawrence had all of the redeeming qualities necessary to add him to the potential Yes pile... but she knew it was a lost cause. Even she had to admit that Lawrence had been one of those unique individuals that had the uncanny ability to completely drain an entire room of all of its energy. He was dull, boring and, while intelligent, lacked even a hint of charisma. Never mind Arthur's adolescent comment that he had a hard time envisioning the JLA being represented by the firm of "Larry, Moe and Curly." She wasn't even certain she knew what that meant. 

Diana slammed the final packet on the No pile in disgust. Her agitation dripped from her words. "Well, Gentlemen, this appears to have been a giant waste of everyone's time..."

Clark placed a soothing hand on her forearm. "I wouldn't say that, Diana. What do we have in the other piles?" 

"We have two in the Maybe and one in the Yes," she replied indignantly. 

"Only one in the Yes?" Arthur prompted.

"Correct."

"Then it seems to me our job is done," Arthur sighed in relief. He pushed his chair back, about to stand, when Diana interrupted. 

"Not really, Arthur. We still have two in the Maybe pile as well." She pushed the No pile off to the side then arranged the three packets in front of her in a pyramid layout, the Yes above the two Maybes. "We need to readdress all three applications and discuss..."

"Oh, for Poseidon's sake!" Arthur growled as he leaned forward and set his elbow on the table, dropping his head into his hand to begin massaging his temples. 

"We needn't completely disregard these other two fine applicants merely for the sake of the other one..." Diana began.

Suddenly, all eyes shifted to the doorway to the conference room as the door hissed open. Steel, in full armor sans helmet, walked into the conference room and stopped, held in his tracks by the stare coming from Diana. 

"Pardon the interruption," Steel intoned flatly, all too used to Diana's... moodiness. "But we have a problem..." 

*****

He watched the reflection of the moon dancing across the lightly rippling water, becoming transfixed by the shimmering and the light sounds of the water lapping into the boathouse's dock. He wasn't sure how long he had stayed there, staring out across the harbor, but suddenly something caught his eye. The rippling of the harbor water had been fairly steady and uniform but something disrupted the regular rhythm of the water. It almost looked like a boat wake, but there was no boat. Ollie quickly realized it was something under the water that was causing the larger waves. At first, in the distance it was easy to discredit any worries by thinking it was just a fish of some kind, but the second time it crossed his line of sight, coming back in the opposite direction, it was closer and obviously much larger than a fish. After this second pass, Ollie lifted his head slowly, staring out across the shimmering blackness, his eyes focussing.   
  
After he saw it pass a third time, even closer than before, he rolled quietly and quickly off the bench into a crouching position on the floor next to his bow and quiver. He grabbed a razor-tipped arrow out of the quiver and noched it when he noticed the movement turn in the direction of the boathouse and speed up, essentially speeding straight for him. 

His eyes widened as the underwater creature, whatever it was, raced into the boathouse. Ollie pulled back on the bowstring, aiming the arrowhead directly at what appeared to be the front of the wake. Suddenly a soaked head poked out through the water. A soaked, vaguely _blond_ head.   
  
Ollie noticed the head had quickly scanned back and forth around the boathouse, jerking quickly toward him. There was a tense moment of complete silence before the figure spoke.   
  
"O..Ol...Ollie?!?" came the tentative voice.  
  
"Arthur?!?!"

Arthur propelled himself out of the water and landed on the interior dock of the boathouse. He immediately began spitting off to the side and shaking the water off of his arms, mumbling something about disgusting harbor water. Ollie expertly eased the tension on his bowstring and removed the arrow, then walked forward to greet his former teammate. The longtime friends shook hands.   
  
"Ya know, you should warn a guy before just popping up like that. I almost put an arrow through your gills." Ollie joked.   
  
Arthur laughed, releasing Ollie's hand.   
  
"So, what the hell are you doing here?" they asked simultaneously, both laughing lightheartedly at the joint comment.   
  
Ollie raised a hand, motioning to Arthur. "You first."  
  
"Well, that's a funny story actually. We were up on the Watchtower for these stupid interviews when Steel came in. He's on monitor duty tonight and he got an alarm notification from an old JLA-owned property here in Gotham."  
  
"JLA-Owned?" Ollie asked.  
  
"Yeah. See, it seems that when you... died, most of your Estate (well, what was left of it, anyway) was granted to the JLA. We've owned this boathouse for years, though most of us didn't even know it existed until the alarm went off, signaling for someone to take action. I guess somewhere along the line, someone decided to put a silent alarm on the building and just let it sit here. Anyway, we decided someone should check it out and I volunteered, just to get the hell out of there. We would have just called Batman, since it was here in Gotham but... uh... we normally don't bother him with routine stuff like this. He's made it quite clear in the past that this kind of stuff..." Arthur switched his voice into a darker, more sinister-sounding tone, his own little impression of "The Voice": "...** isn't worth my time!**"   
  
Ollie mimed pulling a cape up over his nose and looking around menacingly, his impression somewhere half-way between Batman and Bela Lugosi. **"This meaningless tripe distracts me from 'The Mission'! I must be out on the streets, inflicting fear amongst the criminal community and scaring the children with my incessant brooding..."**  
  
They both looked at each other for an instant, then broke out in uproarious laughter.   
  
After the laughter died down a bit, Arthur wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Damn, it's good to have you back!" he said as he smiled wide.   
  
"Yeah, well, it's good to be back." Ollie replied, an equally wide smile crossing his face.   
  
"Okay, your turn," Arthur prompted, eyeing Ollie's obvious lack of shirt and bandaged waist.   
  
"Well, I got a little banged up -- as usual -- and I needed somewhere safe to fix myself up. I knew I'd never make it back to Star City like this and... well, I don't really have a safe haven in Gotham right now. Then, I remembered _this_ place and figured it was still safe enough to use. I had no idea I would attract JLA-sized attention," he added with a chuckle.   
  
"Well," Arthur replied, "you know Superman. Any little strange occurrence and he wants to send in the cavalry. Mostly, I think, he just wanted to know what the hell this place was! Anyway, are you alright?" he asked, looking again to Oliver's bandaged midsection. 

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Ollie lied. "Wait a minute, what did you say you were doing up on the Watchtower?" 

Arthur sighed. "Interviews."

"Interviews? For what? Don't tell me you guys are doing another 'recruiting drive'..."

"Worse," Arthur groaned. "We're interviewing for... a PR agent."

"A **what**?!?" 

Arthur threw his hand up defensively. "I know, I know. I was against it from word go... tried to convince them it wasn't necessary... but I got out-voted."

"Of all the stupid, feather-brained ideas..." Ollie grumbled incredulously. 

"Tell me about it," Arthur grumbled in return. "I just couldn't take it any more. That's why I jumped at the chance to come down here. They're probably up there right now making the final decision..."

*****

__

Hermoine's Society Chit-chat:

All of Tinsel Town is tittering today over the news that Press Agent to the Stars **Webster Hoyt** has added a handful of heavy hitters to his stable. And no, I don't mean Mickey Rourke and Russell Crowe - I'm talking about the Superest of Superheroes: The JLA! Rumors abound regarding what Hoyt is actually going to be doing with those Pinnacles of Power, but chances are, we're going to be seeing a little glitz and glamour sprinkled onto the famously grumpy gaggle... 

*****

... to be continued...


	4. Attacks

****

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

Webster Hoyt. Frighteningly enough, he was our best choice - the one applicant who made it into the Yes pile. In retrospect, we probably should have screened our applicants a little better to start with, but for the most part, we didn't really know what we were looking for. Thus, we ended up with Webster Hoyt. Hoyt's background was impressive enough: Public Relations Masters degree from American University, 3 years in the PR office of the Democratic National Committee, PR Director for Platinum Pictures and, most recently, personal Press Agent for a handful of Oscar-winning actors. His connections to both Washington and Hollywood gave him a unique perspective of the business and a distinctive style. Little did we realize, however, that it was his "unique style" that would cause so many problems in the long run. 

The first few weeks with Webster's services went fairly well. Many of us did personal interviews, public appearances, debate panels, etc. Webster actually managed to get us involved in the fascinating and well done program on the History Channel called the "History of the Superhero", which some of the others disliked due to its inclusion of "both sides of the argument" -- but to me, that was one of its strongest points. Sure it had its downsides -- including a few interviews with a couple of "journalists" whose ignorance about us is only overshadowed by their lack of knowledge of the human condition in general -- and its occasional inaccuracies in some personal histories, but all in all it was an entertaining and delightful program. 

Anyway, things with Webster were going pretty well. Then, all hell broke loose. Quite literally. I know I mentioned the Imperiex thing before, but perhaps I should go into a little more detail...

Every few months or so, some intergalactic ne'er-do-well gets the idea that he can increase his popularity and status in the universal hierarchy by taking over a planet with a slightly "advanced" society (read: moved past the "Rocks & Sticks" era). Apparently, Earth is a prime target for these wannabe dictators. So periodically, we - as the "defenders of the planet" - have to deal with these so-called "invasions" from a being or a species that considers itself superior to the human race. This is not to diminish the battles we've had - some have taken a long time, extreme amounts of power and considerable resources to defeat. Take the Mageddon incident; certainly one of our hardest battles to date. Imperiex, however, did not fit into this category. The only reason the Imperiex thing took longer than a few hours to resolve was a matter of sheer numbers. 

But it wasn't the battle that caused us so much trouble this time around, it was the aftermath. The Press response was a laughable array of misdirection, misinformation and out-right lies - nothing new for us. It was, however, the first real demonstration to Webster _exactly_ what we had been dealing with. The whole situation also gave a voice to quite a few of the detractors out there, elevating relative nobodies like Leon McKinley to a national stage. 

Good or bad, Webster did rise to the challenge, which kept him out of our hair (and our weekly meetings) for a while. If only it had happened sooner, things with Arthur may have gone a bit differently...

****

*****

Arthur grumbled as he made his way toward the conference room door. Another week, another damn meeting. Never mind that they had been getting longer and longer in recent weeks, thanks to that ridiculous press agent and his 1001 ideas for a "bold, new League..."

He paused just outside the door and breathed a heavy sigh. The door to the conference room hissed open and Arthur's hand immediately went up in front of his eyes, blocking them from the unusually bright light suddenly spilling out from the doorway. It had taken many years for his eyes to become accustomed to the brightness of the surface world but really bright light still bothered him. 

"What the fu..."

"Aquaman!" came Superman's overly-chipper voice. "Thanks for coming. Please, come. Sit." 

Two things immediately registered in Arthur's head as his eyes slowly adjusted to the lights. One: Superman's voice. It was light, happy, almost cheery - not the bordering-on-condescension and disappointment that was the norm whenever someone arrived late for a meeting. Two: Clark had called him "Aquaman", not "Arthur". Once his vision returned, he immediately recognized why. They weren't alone. 

Arthur slowly made his way to his chair, glancing cautiously around at the collected mayhem. The overwhelming amount of light had obviously come from the great number of large bucket lights attached to poles, all focussing toward the meeting table. Scattered about the many poles were men with shoulder mounted cameras, headphone-wearing men carrying long metal poles with what appeared to be fur-covered microphones, and a spattering of younger men and women frantically running around trying to keep the jumble of cables from tying around each other. Just outside the forest of light poles and cables there was a series of tables and crates covered with console boards, television monitors, and various other pieces of electronic equipment Arthur was certain were brought in merely for looks. Behind the small crowd of engineers at the consoles were two individuals - a younger woman in a smart business suit, adorned with a headset and clutching a large clipboard, and Webster Hoyt. 

In the center of this maelstrom of activity - and the apparent focus of attention - was the JLA conference table. Arthur cast a confused glance around the table, noting the strange postures and facial expressions of his fellow Leaguers. Were they... posing?! 

Arthur grabbed the top of his chair, about to pull it out to sit, then noticed the absence of not only Batman, but Batman's _chair _as well. He spun suddenly, turning his attention to Webster Hoyt. 

"What in Hades is going on here?!" he bellowed, stepping toward the mass of components. The young woman next to Hoyt scribbled on her clipboard. 

"Uh..." Webster stuttered as he came out from behind the control center, moving in an erratic pattern which Arthur noted was his attempt at avoiding the cameras. "Aquaman!" Hoyt greeted, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "Thanks for coming. Please have a seat and we'll get the meeting underway..."

Arthur eyed the man critically for a moment, then responded in a deceptively calm voice. "No, Webster. I want to know what in Poseidon's name is going on here..." 

"Oh this stuff," Hoyt gushed, motioning flippantly to the assembled camera crew. "This is nothing. Just try to ignore it. We're merely... trying something out..." He began to lead Arthur back to his seat, even pulling it out for the Atlantian to sit. Arthur simply stared at the man, then glanced around the table again, looking for a little help, support or confirmation from the amassed group. Clark's friendly glance began to shift into that urging, stern stare he used to signify his disapproval while under the public eye. 

"Aquaman," Superman urged, motioning toward Arthur's chair. "Please..." 

" 'Please'? '_Please_'?! 'Please', what..." Arthur paused, catching himself before calling him "Kal" - or worse, "Clark" in front of a room full of cameras. Instead he opted for a rather frustrated "... Superman? Please try to disregard the 30 extra people in the room, the overbearing amount of light and heat coming from these lamps or... oh, say the _eight goddamned cameras_ following our every friggin' move?!?" 

"Seven, actually," Diana interrupted, motioning to the seven cameramen about the room. 

Arthur pointedly glared at the empty spot where Batman's chair normally sat then turned toward Wonder Woman and spoke through gritted teeth. "Is that _really_ the discussion you want to start right now..."

"Aquaman," Superman interrupted before the thrown gauntlet could be picked up, "I realize this has caught you a bit off guard, but all of this was cleared at the beginning of last week's meeting." 

__

Touché, Boy Scout. Arthur scowled a bit, noting to himself that Superman's credo obviously now included Truth, Justice and Passive Aggression. "Fine. Then can somebody just appease my idle curiosity and explain to me exactly _what in Poseidon's name is going on here_?" 

"It's a reality show!" beamed the casually unflappable Webster Hoyt, still standing beside the Atlantian. Arthur's head slowly turned in the Press Agent's direction. "A what?" 

"A reality show," Webster repeated. "You know, reality TV. A show on television..." 

"I know what television is, Hoyt," Arthur growled. 

"Of course! From it's humble beginnings from shows like Cops and The Real World, Reality TV has exploded onto the viewing market. It's the biggest thing to hit television since... The Beatles on Sullivan!" 

Arthur stared flatly at the now animated agent - it was becoming increasingly obvious exactly who was responsible for this grand idea. 

"And with the League's 12 to 25 demo in such abysmal shape, this seemed like the perfect opportunity! It'll be like nothing that's ever been seen before! The social interaction of Big Brother and The Real World combined with the pulse-pounding real action of Cops! The prestige and celebrity of The Osbornes plus the adventure and excitement of Survivor! A larger-than-life cast involved in larger-than-life situations! An intimate look into the world of Superheroes! It's actually _bigger_ than Reality TV! It's _Surr_eality TV!!"

Finished with his pitch, Webster Hoyt smiled broadly and clasped Aquaman's shoulder. Aquaman glanced down at the offending hand, then up to the agent's face. "So you're going to be filming the meetings?"

"Well, not just the meetings," Webster chuckled. "We'll film you guys hanging out in the Rec Room, the Monitor Womb, a few shots around the Tower, things like that. Plus, we'll try to get in a few scenes of you guys in action. I mean, an hour of just the weekly meetings would get a bit boring." 

Arthur shot a disgusted look in Superman's direction. "You don't say..."

"Besides," Webster continued, releasing Aquaman's shoulder and heading back toward the production area, "we've decided on the feel of the show, but the seven of you have complete control over the final editorial process. Nothing will be shown that hasn't been pre-approved." 

"So we'll have these damn cameras here for the next, what... six weeks or so, monitoring our every move... ?" Arthur continued to stare at Superman, but the question was directed more at Webster. 

"Months, actually," Webster replied. "Six months or so should give us enough..." 

"What?!" Aquaman spun toward Hoyt, aghast. "Six friggin' MONTHS?!? Are you shitting me?! Are you..." he turned back to the table, "...is he..." then back to Hoyt, "...are you fucking SHITTING ME?!? Six MONTHS?!?" Fuming, Arthur stalked toward the production area. "Of all the bass ackwards, ridiculous... you know, I've put up with a LOT of whaleshit over the last few weeks - the press conferences, the public appearances, magazine and newspaper interviews - ALL of it. But this?! This just takes the fucking flounder! Never mind the invasion of privacy and the abject stupidity of it all, but we're practically handing a Triton-sized portion of fodder to every two-bit detractor and wannabe activist in the WORLD! I thought the idea was to combat all the negative whaleshit floating around out there about us, but instead, you seem to be intent upon bending us over the conference table and begging for us to take the shafting of the fucking century! _And what the fuck is she writing_?!?" he ended, noticing that the well-dressed woman standing beside Hoyt was scribbling furiously on her clipboard. 

"Relax, Aquaman," Hoyt coaxed calmly. "She's just taking notes for the censors..." 

"The.. ?! I... " Arthur stammered. Later, Kyle would swear to Wally and Eel that he actually saw smoke pouring out of Arthur's ears. 

Arthur finally collected his wits enough to respond, but before he could unleash a torrent toward Hoyt that would have no doubt caused the poor production director's pencil to catch fire, Superman zipped across the room and placed a calming hand on Arthur's shoulder. 

"Aquaman, leave the young lady alone. She's just doing her job. Please, come sit down and we can discuss this later." 

The two men traded stern stares for an excruciatingly silent moment, then Arthur finally relented and stormed back to his seat, fuming. As they sat, Webster leaned over to the young woman and spoke in hushed tones. "What did I tell you. He's like the love child of Ozzy Osborne and Simon Cowell! He'll single-handedly insure success in the..." he stopped suddenly, noticing that Superman, Martian Manhunter and Aquaman were all staring at him intently. 

He mentally kicked himself for failing to remember that three of the League members had super hearing, especially the one he was just talking about. A weak smile crossed his face and Arthur turned a whole new shade of red. The Atlantian seemed poised to leap out of his seat when a loud, shrill alarm filled the room. The cameramen and production crew all started looking around frantically, but the Leaguers, Aquaman included, all immediately focussed their attention to the large view screen. The screen flicked on, displaying a real-time satellite video feed - and the large ship quickly approaching. 

Steel's voice suddenly cut through the room. He was, as usual, sitting monitor duty during the meeting and he had monitored the ship's progress until it's destination was undeniable. He relayed what little information he had to the rest of the League. 

"Large Incoming Object. Motion and movement indicate a vehicle of some kind. Classification and Origin: Unknown. Rate of speed: Approximately 1200 km/second, decreasing steadily. At current rate, it will be entering Earth's orbit in 6 minutes, 37 seconds." 

The League rose to its feet and all eyes watched the screen for a moment, then turned to Superman. 

"Lantern," the Man of Steel directed, pointing to Kyle. "Run intercept. We need possible intent and threat assessment..." He barely got to the end of the sentence and Kyle was already out through the air lock and on his way. 

Another small screen popped up on the display, this one showing a large red triangle - indicating the incoming ship - and a small green dot - indicating Green Lantern's flight path. Everyone in the room watched the display in silence. 

J'onn turned his gaze to Superman and the two exchanged a silent moment. Superman nodded once then looked back to the screen. J'onn took a step to the side so that Webster Hoyt was now in his direct line of sight. 

"Webster," the Martian called across the room. "Kill the cameras." 

"Wh-what?" Hoyt responded. "Are you kidding?! This is perfect stuff!" 

Before J'onn could reiterate his point, Arthur swung around to face the agent again. "He said turn them off! NOW!" 

Suddenly, Kyle's voice filled the room. "This is Green Lantern of Sector 2814. Please identify yourself!" All eyes returned to the screen where Kyle floated in front of the now stopped spaceship. After 15 seconds of no reply, he tried again. Still no answer. 

"Superman, do you read?" Kyle's voice called out again.

"Loud and clear, Lantern." Superman replied.

"I'm getting no response, here. And the Ring is picking up some really strange energy signatures. Nothing I've ever seen before..."

"I am Imperiex!" the loud voice boomed from out of nowhere. "This planet now belongs to me. Do not attempt to oppose me or you will be destroyed." 

A large blast of energy fired from the hull of the ship, slamming into Green Lantern and sending him hurling away. The ship immediately continued its journey toward the planet. 

Back in the Watchtower, the Leaguers all shifted slightly, poised to spring into action. Superman held up his hands, motioning for them to wait a moment.

"Lantern, do you read?" the Man of Steel called out. There was another tense moment of silence, then finally Kyle's voice again filled the room. 

"Ow! Sunnuva... Yeah. I'm here, Supes. Sorry, I didn't even see that coming. I'm fine, just knocked the wind out of me. It's moving on, though. I'm in pursuit." 

"Stay on them, Lantern. Try to delay them as much as possible. Help is on the way..." Superman instructed, then turned to J'onn about to send the Martian out to help when there was a slight popping sound and all of the camera crew's lights suddenly flickered off. The overhead lights flickered as well, but did not go out. The television crew began to look around in confusion, as did many of the Leaguers, save for Superman and J'onn. 

The two aliens recoiled slightly, both blinking furiously. They squinted as they glanced around the room, noticing that none of the others appeared to be affected. However, all of the TV monitors and camera view-lenses were showing nothing but stark white screens. Once the initial jolt of the lights going out passed, the TV crew noticed the screens. The production crew behind the consoles immediately began fiddling with input controls and cabling; cameramen started playing with the settings on their lenses. The whole crew seemed to be a flurry of motion as they tried to determine the nature of the problem. 

Diana, however, noticed her two teammates squinting and looked questioningly at Superman. "What is it?" 

Superman's squint lessened as his eyes began to adjust and he looked to J'onn for confirmation before replying. "Infrared light. The entire room is filled with it..." 

"How?" Wonder Woman asked and was immediately answered by a familiar growling voice coming out of a darkened corner behind the production crew. 

"Flash, cameras." 

Wally knew, from instinct and experience, what that voice meant:_ Don't question, just do._ That same voice had saved his ass more times than he could count, so he didn't even think twice. Within a second and a half, all seven cameramen found themselves bereft of their normal shoulder burdens, their hands holding nothing but air and the now-disconnected video feed cables hanging limply on their shoulders. Wally was instantly back at his position at the table - which now held seven identical cameras, all lined up in a neat row. Most of the crew, however, was looking toward the corner behind Webster Hoyt's shoulder as a dark, menacing figure strolled out of Urban Legend and into the room. 

Webster's eyes went wide as saucers as he looked directly into the face of the being he had been repeatedly told did not exist. He stared in awe and shock as Batman strolled directly toward the conference table, his cape brushing over the side of the sound board. Batman touched several buttons on a device in his belt and the Infrared lights turned off, followed almost immediately by the sound board shorting out, thanks to the small device he had just planted on it. 

The League, decidedly unfazed by the new arrival, returned their attention to the display screen. What they saw was Imperiex's ship, grasped in the talons of a gigantic green-construct mechanical bird attempting to pull the ship backwards, away from the planet. One glance at Kyle told them all that he was able to slow the ship's progress, but the strain was getting close to unbearable. Superman again looked to J'onn and the Martian phased from view, instantly flying out through the wall and rocketing toward his teammate. 

As J'onn approached, about 20 small pods launched from the hull of the ship, heading straight toward Earth. J'onn immediately changed direction and zoomed off toward one of the pods. Inside the Watchtower, Batman called for Oracle over the comm lines. 

"Already on it, Boss." The floating green holographic head popped up over the conference table, startling most of the television crew. "Going by the energy signatures, the units do not appear to be weapons of any kind, but rather probes. Information gathering drones. Still, from this far away, once they enter the atmosphere..." 

Nothing else needed to be said. Meteors crashing into the Earth cause enough damage; there was no telling what these probes would do. No one in the League understood that more than Superman. 

"Oracle, estimate impact areas and forward them on to the team as soon as you can. For now," Superman glanced around the table, "we do what we can to stop these things from touching down. And Oracle, call in the reserves." 

As Flash, Plastic Man, Wonder Woman, Aquaman and Superman all made their way toward the teleporters, Batman moved over to one of the built-in consoles on the conference table and activated his communicator. Oracle's digital global map suddenly popped up on the view screen - with several flashing dots already appearing as estimated landing sites. 

"Heaviest concentration seems to be Northern hemisphere - North America, Europe and Scandinavia. Considering the ship's relative position and current trajectory of the probes, those are the most logical places," Oracle relayed. 

"Superman and Plastic Man, concentrate on North and Central America," Batman instructed, calculating his own impact estimates at the same time. "Wonder Woman, focus on Europe. Flash in Scandinavia. Aquaman," he paused for a moment, checking his own figures against Oracle's, then continued, "the percentages are against you. A large number appear to be headed toward the Mid-Atlantic. J'onn?" 

"Go ahead, Batman," the Martian replied, searing through space in pursuit of one of the probes. 

"Handle the one you're after then get down and help Aquaman as soon as possible. I'll be there shortly..."

"Uh, guys?" Green Lantern's voice broke in on the CommLink. Batman immediately switched the view screen over to the satellite image again just in time to see the large bird-construct dissipate. The ship was now stationary, but what concerned Green Lantern (and now Batman) more was the next wave of 30 pods detaching from the hull and heading off toward Earth. Batman ignored the wave of gasps from the crew around him and focussed on the readings on the console. 

"Oracle?"

"Boss?"

"Contact the JSA and The Titans..." he paused, watching yet another 30 probes fire off from the hull. He set his jaw, then growled, "Call them all. Every team, every hero, every person we've ever had contact with. Drag the net, Oracle. Bring them all in. Batman out." 

Batman punched the console, then raced toward the teleport tubes. Just as he finished entering the coordinates for the Batcave in the control pad for Tube #1, Tube #2 flashed to life and Ray Palmer, a.k.a. The Atom, stepped out. 

"Ray, go relieve Steel in the Monitor Womb. We need his hammer more than his brain right now." 

Ray nodded, heading toward the Monitor Womb. Batman grabbed his arm, scowling. "And tell him to get those damn tourists out of the Conference Room."

****

*****

In the PR world, it was generally a good idea to avoid the phrase "bad day". Webster Hoyt preferred thinking of his time in terms of "Good days" and "Not So Good Days". This day easily fell into the latter category. It had been a week since the Imperiex "invasion" and what should have been a major victory for the JLA on so many levels had already turned into what could best be described as a "Universal Shafting". The JLA - plus every man, woman and child who ever wore a costume, it seemed - had successfully routed the invasion in less than 3 days. That was the upside. The downside was the stack of newspapers currently sitting on Hoyt's desk, staining his elbows with black ink as he sat with his head in his hands. 

"I... I just don't understand it..." he muttered to himself as he stared down at the headlines. 

USAToday: **Heroes Try. Luthor Succeeds!**  
Washington Post: **Luthor Wins the Day!**  
L.A. Times: **Prez Says: Not on MY Watch!**  
Gotham Post: **President:1, Metas: 0**

"Sir?" the young woman spoke tentatively, knowing that normally the best course of action was to avoid Webster on his "Not So Good Days". Webster looked up from his hands to see his secretary standing in the doorway to his office.

"What is it, Laura?" 

"The guys from Jackhouse Productions are here to see you..." she replied, glancing nervously back over her shoulder. The board operators from the TV crew stood around the lobby, their faces marked with nervous anticipation. 

Hoyt took a deep breath, collected the newspapers and set them off to the side. "What's the news?" he asked her, standing and pulling his suit jacket off the back of his chair and tossing it on. 

"I don't know, sir," she replied. "They said they wanted to speak to you directly."

"Wonderful," Webster muttered under his breath, then straightened himself up and added, aloud, "Please, send them in." 

She nodded respectfully, then disappeared from the doorway. A few seconds later, the production crew members strolled in, the lead engineer carrying a video tape case. Webster shook their hands and offered them a seat. 

"So," Webster said, sighing perhaps a little too heavily as he sat back down in his own chair. "What have we got, John?" he asked the head engineer. 

The crew members glanced nervously back and forth, most of the looks resting back on the lead engineer. He glanced back to Webster, his jaw lightly clenched. Webster couldn't tell if it was nervousness, anxiety or anger.

"Nothing," John replied and Webster immediately recognized the face as barely-concealed anger. 

"Nothing?" Webster repeated, confused. "We should have at least _some_ useful footage. Maybe not enough for a show, but at least for a pilot or a test tape or a demo or... _something_?!"

"Yeah, that's what _we_ thought too," John explained. "Until we got back to the office and found this in the box of tapes." He tossed the video tape case up onto Webster's desk. Externally, it looked like any other production videocassette case - hard plastic case with white sliding lock up the spine. This one, however, had made a rather heavy clunking sound as it landed on the desk. Just as Webster reached to pick it up, the box hummed and he recoiled as if it were a snake. He instantly noticed strange wavy color patterns appearing on his computer monitor, warping the screen slightly. 

Yelping in panic, Webster batted it off the desk with the back of his hand. "What the hell is that?!?" 

John calmly reached down, picked up the tape case, opened it and set it on Webster's desk, away from the computer screen. Webster looked down at a strange device inside the case: a small metal box surrounded by what appeared to be lead casing, flanked on each side by large metal rods with copper wiring wound around them. The humming had stopped and Webster's monitor had mostly returned to normal, save for a slight discoloration along the side closest to where the device had been sitting. 

"Wh-what...?" Webster prompted, staring down into the tape case. 

"As near as we can tell, it's a very powerful, localized electromagnet," John explained, a palpable disgust in his voice. "Triggered by a small, almost imperceptible switch next to the slide-lock, it's set to discharge once every 60 seconds or so." Webster looked up at the engineer, still confused. "In effect," John explained, "it's a miniature bulk eraser." 

"And it was in the tape box?!" Webster was genuinely surprised. How did a bulk eraser get in the.. Then he remembered. The one person who had walked right past the open tape boxes on his way to the conference table. The same one who had secretly disabled the entire sound board as well...

"That son of a _bitch_!" Webster pounded his desk with an open hand. He never imagined that such dirty, under-handed tactics would be used by _anyone_ in the Justice League. He had somehow found himself the newest member of an elite club normally reserved for Gotham Rogues: the Screwed by The Bat Club. 

"There was one in the audio stock box as well, designed to look like a standard DAT tape," John continued, glad to see that Webster was as upset about all of this as he was. 

"But we ran a lot of tape? Isn't there _anything_?!" Webster asked. 

"No more than 3 seconds of continual footage on any of the tapes. It's all completely worthless."

Exasperated, Webster thanked them for coming and hustled them out, agreeing that his firm would be covering any losses stemming from the short-out of the boards. He re-entered his office, Laura quick on his heels. He sat back down, disgustedly taking stock on exactly how "Not Good" his day had gone. The reality show idea was ruined before it even started. On top of all that, the League had lied to him about Batman. Not only did Batman exist, but he was at the meeting the whole time - with the ability to sabotage the entire process. This just wouldn't do. 

He glanced over at the papers again, shaking his head slowly. That inescapable moment of self-doubt crossed his mind, then disappeared as realization struck. He was Webster Hoyt, dammit! He had faced far worse press than this back when he worked for the DNC! He saved Platinum Pictures from public disgrace (and complete bankruptcy!) after the CEO was discovered with an underage male prostitute in his car! He had single-handedly molded the career of no less than seven Academy Award winning actors and actresses - all of whom were as nutty as loons! This would NOT bring him down! 

He realized that his major uneasiness over what he was now terming the "Imperiex Affair" wasn't the bad press against the League so much as the positive press for Luthor. His guys (and gals) had battled for 3 long and difficult days only to have Luthor steal the limelight with one shot from this massive LexCorp cannon... that he just happened to have... right in front of the conveniently placed Press Corp... 

"LAURA!" Webster shouted for his secretary. 

"Yes?" She replied, already standing right beside him. He jolted at her voice, obviously unaware that she had been standing there the whole time. 

"Oh, there you are. I need you to get me someone from the Daily Planet on the line. Anyone from the newsroom will do..." Webster pulled a notepad out from his desk drawer and immediately began scribbling notes as Laura headed out toward her desk. 

"Wait," he called after her, stopping her just as she reached the door. She turned to regard him as he tapped his pencil gingerly against his temple. He paused, then pointed toward her with the pencil. "Who's that reporter at the Planet? The one with the obvious contempt for all things Luthor?" 

"Could you be a little more specific, sir?"

"The bulldog." Webster snapped his fingers as if that would help jog his memory.

"That doesn't narrow the field down much, sir."

"Oh c'mon... you know... the pretty one..."

"Dirk Armstrong?" 

"No! The _woman_!"

"Lane, sir?" 

"That's the one!" he cried, a smile crossing his face for the first time that day. "Get me Lois Lane." 

****

*****

Lois walked out of the kitchen holding a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other and plopped down on the sofa. She had just taken her first bite of sandwich when the curtains by the window fluttered open with an all-too-familiar whooshing sound. Three seconds later, her husband strode out of the bedroom, clad in a white bathrobe and his customary spectacles. 

"Hi, honey. I'm home" Clark called, chuckling as he kissed her gently on the head and sat on the couch next to her. He never tired of jokingly using that line when he came back from a mission and she never tired of giving him the same disgusted look for it. He picked up the newspaper she had left for him on the coffee table, sat across from her on the couch and began to read. 

"So," Lois interrupted, a playful tone in her voice. "I got an interesting phone call today."

"Oh?" Clark asked from behind his paper.

"M-hm," she nodded as she took another bite of her sandwich. "From Webster Hoyt."

Clark dropped the paper and stared directly at her. "What?" 

"Oh, yes. Hoyt called me. Said he had the story of the century," she said dramatically, mimicking Hoyt's own voice before rolling her eyes. 

"Webster Hoyt?" he asked. "_That _Webster Hoyt? The League's new Press Agent Webster Hoyt?" 

"The one and only," she smirked, taking another bite.

"What about?"

"Oh," she said nonchalantly, taking another bite of her sandwich. Clark simply watched her impatiently as she slowly chewed the sandwich, reveling in the suspense she was holding him in. She slowly, methodically picked up her drink and took a long sip then paused again to dab the corners of her mouth with her napkin. Clark sighed. "It seems," she continued finally, drawing it out as much as she could, "that he has some information regarding Luthor and the Imperiex thing. Says he has proof that Luthor had foreknowledge of the whole thing." 

"What?!" Clark spat incredulously.

"Oh yeah! Knew about the whole thing," she chuckled between chews. "May have even helped plan it!" 

"Lois," Clark replied, trying desperately to keep the 'Super' out of his voice. "You can't seriously be thinking about... I mean, you can't..."

"Hey, it's a possible _story_, Clark."

"Lois..."

"Oh, give me some credit, Smallville! I'll check it out and if it's nothing I'll drop it. But if it holds any water, I'll check it out myself and report on it. That's what we do. We're reporters. We report the _News_."

"This isn't news, Lois," Clark stated flatly. "It's political. And you know that as well as I do."

"Maybe," Lois conceded. "But if this is the shot that cracks Luthor..."

"This _won't_ crack Luthor and you know that too. This is conjecture and hearsay at best; outright lies at worst. Even if there's a shred of truth to _any_ of it, there is no way that there would ever be enough evidence to make a case - or a story. Don't do it, Lois. Please."

"Why not," she asked, the humor starting to leave her voice. 

"Because... it's career suicide. You print this story, Luthor immediately retorts, piling on mountains of evidence to the contrary. You get branded as the conniving journalist who's out to up her sales by attacking the President and Luthor gets labeled the innocent victim of a nasty smear campaign. I know Perry has stood behind you on the tough stories before, but I'm not sure he could protect you on this one."

"It wouldn't be the first time for that, Clark. I can handle..."

"No, Lois. I don't think you can. You _know_ Luthor. If there is even the slightest bit of truth to this, his covered tracks will have covered tracks. And if he thinks that you came even marginally close to having something real on him, he'll hold you up before the entire nation and label you everything from a liar and a hypocrite to a traitor. Even if he _knows _there's nothing to this story, he might do it anyway, just out of spite! He will not stop until he guarantees that you won't be able to get a job working for the Auto Trader."

They sat for a long moment, matching stare for stare. Lois finally broke the silence. "You know, this whole overprotection thing stops being cute and starts getting annoying after a while." 

"Lois, it's not..."

"Yes it is, Clark. And I did a pretty good job of protecting myself long before you ever showed up. And since when did we start giving a damn about retaliations over something we wrote? Last I checked, we were members of the Press and therefor _Constitutionally _allowed to print whatever the hell we wanted to! And I'll be damned if I'm going to withhold a story for _anyone_. Not for the President of the United States - and _certainly_ not for Alexander Luthor!"

"Lois, after his stunt this week, Luthor's approval rating is at 82%. **82%! **Now is not the time to take him on..." Clark pleaded lightly.

"Bullshit! Now is the _perfect_ time to take him on!"

"Lois, listen to me," he said, taking her hand and speaking in a calmer, more rational voice. "If there's a story here, then you're right. It needs to be told. But you and I both know that this isn't big enough to take Luthor down for good. I promise you, Luthor's day _will_ come. And when it does, _you_ will be the one to report it. That's the only way it'll work. But you won't be able to do that if you lose your job over something as trivial as this. We need you to be around when the big story breaks. _I_ need you there. So I'm asking you, please. Don't do this now."

She stared at him a moment longer, then sighed. "And if Hoyt's story is true?" 

"Then I'll review the information, I'll do the groundwork and if there's enough to go with, _I'll_ write the story."

"So I just sit back and let you take the bullet for me? You're right, Clark - it's extremely possible that Lex _will_ do all those things you mentioned. I'm supposed to just let you get hung out to dry instead of me?"

He paused for a moment, then smiled. "I already have a day job," he added with a wink. 

A wicked smile momentarily crossed her lips. "Are you just trying to scoop me, Smallville?" 

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the phone ringing. They stared at each other as the phone rang a second time, not wanting to break the conversation just yet. Finally, she slowly withdrew her hand from his. "Go answer the phone." 

He smiled, got up from the couch and answered the wall phone in the kitchen. Back on the couch, Lois could barely make out what he was saying. 

"Kent Residence... Oh! Hello Tim!... Really? Well congratulations. Best man, huh? Big job." He chuckled for a moment, then continued. "Uh-huh... That's great... Sure! I'd be glad to help out. What do you need..." 

There was a long pause. Lois wasn't completely sure, but she could have sworn she heard a Bat-like grunt coming from the kitchen. Then, the phone was abruptly hung up. 

*****

****

Transcript: Point/Counterpoint with Mathew Christopher  
© GNN: Headline News Network.   
Show: _The Imperiex Crisis_

(cont.)

Stacey Martin: You seem to be conveniently forgetting the hundreds of times that the JLA, the JSA, the Titans and all the rest have fought and sometimes even died protecting all of us from danger of this magnitude. And worse!

****

Leon McKinley: No, Miss Martin, I'm not. But need I remind you of the events of just this last week? That when all the chips were down, it was one man - one _normal_, non-superpowered human with the plan, the dedication and the ability to end this crisis once and for all. And that man is the President of the United States. 

****

SM: So you see Luthor as the real hero here?

****

LM: Yes, I do. 

****

SM: And what of those superheroes that fought and died protecting the innocent lives of the people of this country and of the world?!

****

LM: Casualties of War. I see them just as I see the hundreds of men and women of the United States military that lost their lives fighting for the exact same cause. These superheroes see themselves as soldiers - and sometimes soldiers die. That's the cost of doing battle. I refuse to elevate the loss of one life above another simply because someone decides to put on a brightly colored costume and call themselves "Super". In fact, the real difference between the brave and honorable military men and women who were injured or killed and those superheroes that died during this conflict is that military soldiers are enlisted and sanctioned by the US Government, acting under the guidance of their Commander in Chief and under the rules of International Law. These superheroes seem to think that they operate _above _the law. While their efforts and their intentions may be noble - which I question, in fact - what they're doing is illegal!

****

SM: That's not entirely true, Mr. McKinley. The Superhero community is sanctioned by the Office of Meta-Human affairs - an official part of the President's Cabinet. And Secretary Waller has made some major in-roads during this administration...

****

LM: Amanda Waller has as much control of the Superhuman population as Mr. Christopher here has control over this Network. And while I applaud her efforts, most of her "achievements" have been strictly political. And quite frankly, it seems to me that putting someone with such direct ties to the superhero community in charge of watching over them is...

****

SM: Watching over them?! The whole idea of that cabinet position is to foster relations between the Superhero community and the government and citizens of the United States - to act as an intermediary. Not to hold them under the government's thumb...

****

LM: Well, those "fostered relations" didn't do a whole lot to save the hundreds of thousands of innocent American citizens who lost their lives in cities like Topeka and Lafayette last week... 

****

SM: Wait a minute, are you holding Secretary Waller, the US Government and the superhero community responsible for the actions of an invading marauder?! That's preposterous!!

****

LM: I'm saying nothing of the sort, Miss Martin. But I will ask you this: Why is it that we seem to have to deal with these "alien invaders" on such a regular and constant basis? Never mind the repeated attacks on innocent citizens by the crazed lunatics of _this_ world, what is it about this planet that seems to attract this constant attention from malicious beings? And could it possibly have something to do with the amount of supposed power that some of this planet's inhabitants possess? 

****

(cont.)

*****

The Daily Planet sat in the middle of the JLA Conference Table, it's front-page headline screaming up at the League in bold, black letters: 

****

LUTHOR KNEW!  
_By Clark Kent_

The discussion had started from the moment the meeting had commenced. The arguments had been volleyed back and forth across the table for close to an hour. Each League member, it seemed, had his or her own take on the situation.

"I just don't think this is the kind of tactics that we really ought to be taking," Diana protested. "While I appreciate that something is being done, is this really the message we want to be sending?" 

"In all fairness, this isn't the League's reaction. It's the Daily Planet's reaction. This was an editorial piece in a national newspaper. Outside of the eight people in this room, Webster Hoyt and, apparently, Clark's wife, no one else can make the connection between this article and the Justice League," Batman, actually in attendance (especially since Webster Hoyt wasn't), replied.

"I think Diana's primary concern is that this sets a dangerous precedent," J'onn retorted. "If Webster goes this far right out of the chute, then what's to stop him from going farther later down the road? And should we continue to let him use these... negative tactics all in the name of promoting us?"

"Hold on," Superman interjected. "We're dangerously close to infringing on the Planet's First Amendment rights here. The only reason we would have had _any_ control over this in the first place is because _I_ wrote the story. As far as 'later down the road', we may not have _any_ chance to control what's written..."

"All the more reason to put our foot down with Hoyt now," Diana reasoned. "Tell him that we don't want our promotional push involved with this kind of smear campaign."

"Regardless of our personal feelings on the article," Wally offered, getting into the conversation, "it was at least somewhat effective. And isn't that what we hired Hoyt for in the first place? To enhance our image?" 

"That's true, Wally," J'onn countered, "but that doesn't mean we give up complete control over what that image is."

On and on it went, each Leaguer offering their own side of the argument. During the discussion, there were two voices that were markedly silent. The first was Kyle, who spent the majority of the conversation with a strange combination of confusion, concern and steadily growing ire on his face. His thoughts had little to do with the topic at hand and more to do with planning how exactly he was going to leave the meeting with his dignity intact -- considering he had discovered about 10 minutes into the meeting that _someone_ - no doubt the Scarlet Jackass beside him - had Super Glued his ass to his chair. 

The second (uncharacteristically) silent voice was Arthur. Normally the most vocal when it came to matters involving Webster Hoyt, Arthur leaned back in his chair and simply watched the discussion with a strangely stoic expression. Truthfully, his mind was elsewhere. Vulko had approached him earlier in the week to express concern that there was growing dissent amongst the Kingdom of Atlantis regarding their King. It seemed that a steadily growing number of citizens were upset over the amount of time he spent away from the city - that he appeared to be more concerned with the happenings of the Surface World than with his own people. It wasn't helping matters that he was starting to feel the same thing in himself...

"Arthur?" Diana repeated, shaking him from his private thoughts. He glanced up at her, unfazed by the seven pairs of eyes currently focussed in his direction. 

"Yes?" 

"What are your thoughts on the matter?" Diana prompted, obviously intent on bringing him into the discussion. 

"Who cares," he grumbled flatly. 

"Who cares?" Diana replied, taken aback. "We do, Arthur. At least we all should. This matter concerns each and every one of us..."

"No," Arthur interrupted coolly. "This matter concerns each and every one of _you_. I, quite frankly, couldn't give two shits less about this."

Diana recoiled in shock. "Arthur! How can you say that?!"

"Just like this," Arthur growled back, pointing at his mouth as he repeated slowly, "I couldn't give two shits less. In all honesty, _Princess_, I find this whole thing laughable. We spent four months wrestling with this whole decision, pouring through applicant after applicant to try and find _one_ person to assist us with what several of you considered to be a huge public relations downfall, then, when we finally hire somebody - asking them to lend their _professional_ expertise to our cause - you get your Star Spangled Panties in a bunch when they don't do it the way you want them to! It's ridiculous! We hired the guy and now we want to undermine the job that he's doing?! Either leave him alone and let him do the job we hired him to do, or let him go and deal with it yourself. Either way, I really don't care!" 

"Arthur?" J'onn looked at his friend, genuine concern etched on his brow. "Are you alright?"

"No, J'onn. I'm not," Arthur replied. "I'm pretty friggin' far from 'Alright'. What I am is sick and tired of this. _All_ of it." He glanced around the table, looking at each of his fellow Leaguers in turn. "What in Hades happened to us? How did we wind up here? We used to go out and do our jobs because it was the right thing to do. We used to put our lives on the line on a daily basis, fighting for what we believed in simply because we felt we were right! Now all we do is second guess ourselves at every turn. And worse, we're letting everyone else on the planet second guess us as well! We used to champion the cause of Truth and Justice, now we kowtow to the Court of Public Opinion! How did we go from 'We pledge to protect you from all threats, foreign and domestic' to 'Is this okay with you'?! Where did we go _wrong_?!?" 

The other Leaguers all traded questioning glances, Arthur's words hanging in the air like a rumbling thunderhead. 

"Well, I'm just sick of it." Arthur finally broke the silence with a tired voice. "I'm sick of coming to this meeting every week and getting nothing accomplished. I'm sick of us constantly second guessing ourselves. I'm sick of every discussion turning into an full-blown argument. I'm sick of the political in-fighting, the off-handed comments and the secret decisions. And I'm sick of putting my life on the line for an entire planet full of people who can't seem to even extend the gods-damned common courtesy of giving us the benefit of the doubt."

"And I'm sorry," he added, sliding his chair back away from the table and standing, "but I just can't do it any more." He turned and walked toward the door. 

"Arthur?" Superman called after him. "Where are you going?" 

Aquaman turned and looked the Man of Steel directly in the face. "I'm sorry, Clark. Do I need to spell it out for you?" He strolled back to the table and grabbed the folded up newspaper. Holding it down on the table with his right hand, he used the tip of his harpoon-hand to gouge and tear a series of letters into the paper. Once finished, he tossed the paper across the table to land right in front of Superman, then turned and walked out of the conference room. 

Superman stared down at the torn paper in front of him and read the jagged, scrawled words:

**__**

I QUIT!

* * *

... to be continued... 


	5. Party of the first part

**Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)**

Arthur's departure came as a shock to all of us. I knew things had not been going well for him for a while - I think everyone could see that - but I never imagined how bad it had gotten. Over the next couple of weeks, I went down to Atlantis to visit and talk. I was trying to get some sense of what had precipitated his leaving. It took several visits to convince him that it was me, as a friend, coming to see how he was doing and that I wasn't sent by the League to "feel him out" (Diana brought that idea up once and was immediately out-voted 6-1). Arthur told me of the problems in Atlantis and his own desire to focus his attention on ruling his kingdom - which I understood completely. Sure, most of us have "day jobs" - some more stressful and busy than others - but sometimes I don't think the rest of the League truly understands what Arthur - or rather, King Orin - has to deal with. 

After a few weeks of visits, I started noticing some changes in Arthur. He was more relaxed, more laid back - less angry. I commented to him about it and he just smiled. "I'm happy, J'onn," he told me. "Probably happier than I have been in a long time. As cliched as it sounds, I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders." In some respects, he was more correct than he knew - at least, the weight of the "Surface World" had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Officially, the League listed his departure as an "Extended Leave of Absence" in order to make things easier if he ever decided to return. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one we had lost thanks to the Imperiex debacle. Steel was officially on extended leave as well - his injuries were pretty severe and he wanted to take some time off to heal. Clark told me later that John Henry was actually considering hanging up the armor for good - wanting to focus more on SteelWorks. Arthur and John Henry were just a few of the "Casualties of War" from that conflict. It seems that the publicity and morale problems we were facing weren't exactly League-specific - many in the "Superhero Community" had been feeling the strain as well. Several others used the Imperiex thing to justify hanging up their capes and tights and fading into relative obscurity or (as in Hippolyta's case) simply returning home. 

The rest of us were in desperate need of some relief. Even the mood at the recent Third Saturdays get-togethers had been more somber than in previous years. Thankfully, a relief of sorts did present itself, at least for some: Dick Grayson and Barabara Gordon's wedding. I was able to attend the wedding - disguised as a caterer - and I have to say it was one of the most moving and beautiful ceremonies I had ever witnessed. It was heartwarming to see that, in the middle of all of these problems, two young people who had been through so much were able to come together and dedicate their lives to each other, "for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health". So I was happy, not only for the two of them, but for all that were there to witness their union - allowing the happiness of the occasion to lift their spirits. 

While I attended the wedding, I did not attend Dick's bachelor party. Don't get me wrong, it had nothing to do with Dick or with anyone else in attendance. The truth is, after Clark's bachelor party... well, let's just say that my involvement in needlessly needling the others into a superhero show of one-upsmanship that eventually led us all over the West Coast and resulted in the power displays that turned parts of the Nevada desert permanently green had turned me off to parties of that nature. I had no doubt that with Bruce and Clark both in attendance, Dick's party would in no way lead to another "unnatural disaster," but I just couldn't... well... I think it's best that we just leave that alone and go with "I was unable to attend." 

Anyway, from what I understand, the party was a rousing success - a much needed release for quite a few that needed it. According to Wally, it was quite the little gathering... up until Pamela Isely (a.k.a. Poison Ivy) crashed the party. And I'm also lead to understand that Diana apparently crashed Barbara's bachelorette party as well, though details are still a bit shaky on that one. All in all, though, it appears that a relative good time was had by all. 

On the public front, however, things continued their downward spiral. As expected, Luthor dodged the bullet of Clark's story - vilifying Clark in the process. We admonished Webster Hoyt in private, expressing our displeasure at the way he handled the situation. He promised to "do better" in the future. Whether he meant that he would try to operate more to our liking or that he would just try to hide his tracks a little better is still a matter of debate amongst the League - though we would get a pretty good indication during our next big public perception problem concerning Arthur's "disappearance"...

*****

**Thursday**

  


"It's not that big of a leap to make," Webster argued, tossing the tabloid down onto the coffee table and leaning back in his chair. The PR Subcommittee - or rather, what was left of it with Arthur resigning and Oracle attending to "an important case for Batman" (Barbara Gordon working on the last minute arrangements for the wedding) - sat around the Watchtower Rec Room discussing the latest headlines affecting the League. Specifically, they were discussing the National Tattler Webster had just tossed back onto the coffee table, glaring up at them with the headline: **Aquaman Dead!**

"He's been gone since the Imperiex Invasion," Webster continued. "There have been no less than four public battles by the League since then and two standing room only Press Conferences - all with no Aquaman. It's not really surprising that they came to this conclusion."

"Came to that conclusion?" Diana retorted. "It's an outright lie!"

"And that's new to us how, exactly?" Webster replied, smirking. "Like I said before, one of the main things to keep in mind with a PR nightmare like this is that we have to learn to pick our battles. And this isn't a battle we need to win. Besides, you people die and come back all the time, don't you?"

Diana narrowed her eyes in Webster's direction. "What did you mean by that? 'You people'?"

"He meant Superheroes, Diana" J'onn replied, glancing in her direction before returning his attention to Webster. "What about a retraction?"

"You know how it is - big story: Page 1, above the fold. Retraction: page B-27 under the Victoria's Secret ad. It's pointless and a waste of time. Pick your battles. Oh, speaking of which, I still feel really bad about the whole Luthor thing. So you think we ought to do something for that Kent fellow? You know, help him find a new job or something?" 

"Kent's already taken care of," Superman offered, hiding a smile. "You don't need to worry about that. He's a... close, personal friend."

"Oh? Well, okay then," Webster replied with a smile. He began collecting the various newspapers and folders they had used during the meeting, stacking them in his open briefcase. "I guess that's it for this week. I'm putting together some new things for us - a couple of high-profile appearances and such. You guys have done some pretty phenomenal work these last few weeks and we need to get that message out. I'm working on a deal right now with MTV to get a few of you on TRL one day next month. It'll really punch up the 12 to 20 numbers." 

The three Leaguers traded slightly concerned glances as Webster closed and latched his briefcase and then stood up. "I've got a few other irons in the fire, so to speak, as far as League visibility goes. I'll fill you all in on the details next week. Diana, don't forget about the panel discussion at the UN conference on Thursday. You've been doing great on the Argentina thing - great Women's Rights stuff. Housewives across the country are eating it up."

Webster moved toward the doorway, his eyes never leaving the group. J'onn marveled at the man's ability to walk in any direction while still keeping focussed on the group. He began to wonder if Webster had some strange directional control meta-gene. 

"And don't worry too much about the Aquaman stories," Webster continued. "Truth be told, the sympathy vote will probably help us in the long run." 

Superman, Diana and J'onn looked to each other in concern and confusion, then simultaneously turned critical stares in Webster's direction. Superman spoke, asking the question they were all thinking. "Webster? Did you... plant that story?"

"What story?" 

"About Arthur." 

"What? No!" The agent replied quickly. "No, no. I was just... you guys have got to learn to see the silver lining on these things. Think positive," he added with a wink. "I'll see you guys next week." Webster turned and left the room. The trio waited until they heard the faint hum of the teleport tube activating, then looked back at each other, trying to confirm what they all suspected.

"He's lying," Diana stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes," J'onn confirmed, leaning back in his chair and massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Unbelievable," Clark muttered, slowly shaking his head and crossing his arms across his chest.

"What are we going to do about this?" Diana asked. 

"About what?" J'onn answered. "About the fact that he lied or about what he's been doing in general?" 

"Either!" Diana responded, bordering on exasperation. "Both!"

Ever the mediator, Superman stepped in. "As far as him lying, I think we'll just have to let that one go for now. It's not the first time he's done it and I'm sure it won't be the last. About his job in general... I don't really know. The truth is, he's doing the job we hired him to do..."

"Yes, he is. And regardless of whether or not we agree with his methods, he's doing it the way he knows how," J'onn agreed. "The man has a lot of energy; a lot of drive, dedication and tenacity. The real problem here is that he has no real _direction_."

"Exactly." Superman nodded slowly. "Asking him to fix our 'Public Relations problem' is a pretty broad request. So he's dealing in pretty broad solutions."

"So, do we define more specific instructions?" Diana asked, getting into the discussion. "Give him a direction?"

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a _target_," J'onn offered. 

Superman immediately saw the benefits of J'onn's suggestion. He'd helped Lois wrestle a time or two with similar problems when she was trying to write a story with particularly vague sources. "Something specific that he can focus his energies on."

"Or _someone_," Diana suggested.

The two men looked at her -it was apparent she had someone in mind.

"Luthor," Diana answered their unasked question.

"No," Superman shot back emphatically. "Not a chance. I think recent events are enough of an explanation for that. Webster just doesn't have what it takes to take on Luthor and win. The problem is that Webster doesn't really _know_ Luthor like we do. Luthor plays dirtier than anyone else alive."

"Not to mention Luthor would be able to trace Webster back to us and the last thing we need is to hand Luthor more fodder against us," J'onn added.

"Besides," Superman continued, "Luthor's not our problem here. Our problem is OUR public image and going after Luthor to try to counteract that will look exactly like what it is: Political. We're not running for office here, we're doing what we were meant to do: protect the people of this planet."

"I agree with that sentiment, Clark," J'onn responded. "But at the same time, our public image problem is basically a political one - and that's what we've hired Webster for. We didn't hire him merely to book us on MTV talk shows or set up photo-ops, we hired him to handle the backlash against us in the press -- and that, in and of itself, is a political fight. That was one of the main reasons we chose him in the first place - he has a pretty impressive history of dealing with just these kinds of problems. So let's take the leash off of him and see what he can do."

"Also," Diana interjected, "we're not really looking to _attack_ anyone, we're merely looking for a voice to communicate our message and to counteract the rampant anti-superhero sentiment out there. Part of that counteraction may be to deflate the argument by pointing out the inherent fallacies in it, but if it's handled correctly, that doesn't have to come off as an attack."

"But are we sure that Webster can do it that way?" Superman asked. "Can he be trusted to handle it without going too far?"

"We won't really know until we let him try," J'onn offered.

"Still," Diana asserted, "given what we've seen here today, we'll still need to keep an eye on him, just to be sure."

"Diana has a point," added Superman. "It'll take a little closer monitoring. We've all now witnessed the lengths he's willing to go to. I think it's time he had someone double-checking his work, so to speak."

"Perhaps we could get Oracle to work her magic on this one," Diana suggested. "Have her keep tabs on him as he works..."

J'onn and Superman traded brief glances, then J'onn responded. "I don't think that's going to work, Diana. The... case that she's working on for Batman will pretty much keep her unavailable for the next month or so."

"She is a member of the League. We all make allowances from time to time when duty calls. I'm sure she can spare _some_ time away from this 'case' to help out..." Diana insisted.

"Actually, the kind of time we're talking about here is more than Oracle could spare at this point," Superman replied and J'onn nodded his agreement. 

"What kind of case is she working on that takes this much of her time?" Diana prodded, her tone bordering on accusatory. She was starting to get that "Boys Club" feeling again - that she was purposefully being kept out of the loop. 

After a quick traded glance between the two, J'onn replied. "That's irrelevant, really. Especially because I've noticed that Webster tends to use pencil and paper quite a lot so that kind of falls outside of Oracle's realm..."

"But who else do we have that could keep an eye on him without raising suspicion? Ray Palmer, maybe?" Diana and Superman continued discussing the possibilities as J'onn sat in pensive silence. He was beginning to realize exactly what Batman had been talking about when he was convincing Arthur to be on the Public Relations Subcommittee. Without that "grounding" voice of dissent, they did have a tendency to over-analyze things - and this conversation was certainly starting to prove that theory. Why did they do this? Why did they feel the need to nit-pick into every last detail or every conceivable outcome like this? He knew he was just as guilty as Clark and Diana, and that thought bothered him the most. They weren't like this in the field - in the field you do what needs to be done, no matter the cost, in order to get the job done. No lengthy discussions, no voting - you just do it because it's the only way to succeed and, in many cases, survive! Perhaps it was time for a little more action... 

"I'll handle it." J'onn's voice interrupted the conversation between Superman and Wonder Woman. They both turned slowly and looked at J'onn, leaning back in his chair with a sly grin on his face.

*****

**Friday**

  


Wally thought he knew Gotham City. Over his many visits to the city, he had become familiar with the general layout of the streets and the traffic patterns. However, being able to navigate through the streets on foot (at 250 mph) was one thing. Being able to navigate a large rented SUV through midtown - where you are subject to traffic laws, street signs and other vehicles - during early evening business traffic was something else entirely. 

It didn't help matters that his passengers kept purposefully trying to mess him up. Kyle, his navigator, was purposefully making a habit of answering every question with "Right" - half the time meaning the direction and the other half meaning "Correct". After a particularly confusing round of this that resulted in Wally having to make a hairpin left-hand turn in the middle of an intersection, almost colliding with a taxi, Wally finally gave up, snatched the directions from a giggling Kyle and navigated himself. 

Once his heart had stopped pounding from close encounter with the taxi, Wally turned to Kyle, still giggling in the seat beside him. "Look, about what I was saying before..."

"What 'before'?" Kyle asked, confused.

"Before. You know... before. Before you turned this whole trip into a... Laurel & Hardy skit," Wally grumbled, eliciting another chuckle from Kyle.

"Yeah, what about it?" 

Wally sighed, knowing that what he was asking was only going to make things worse on him in the long run - he was throwing himself on the mercy of the court, begging for Kyle to give him a temporary reprieve from their growing prank war. "I'm not asking you to put an end to this stuff for good. Just please hold off until after the wedding, okay?" 

"Uh-huh," Kyle replied flippantly, staring out the passenger window at the passing foot traffic on the sidewalk. 

"Dude, I'm serious!" Wally pushed. "Please just lay off for now." 

"Sure, whatever." It was just as flippant as before. 

"Kyle, look, it's not for me, okay? It's for Dick and Barbara. It's their special day - that once in a lifetime day where they both want everything to be perfect. And I don't want to be the one to ruin it because I'm standing up in front of God and everyone scratching my nuts at supersonic speed!" 

"Okay, fine!" Kyle responded defensively, holding his hands up. "I'll hold off. Geez. Don't go all Diana on me..."

Wally shot him a disgusted look, then turned at the fourth light as instructed. There was a light coughing sound from the back seat, obviously aimed at the back of Kyle's head. 

*coughcough*"Pussy!"*cough*

"Hey! No comments from the Plastic Gallery, please," Wally shot toward the back. 

"Meh meh-meh meh meh Meh-meh Meh-me-meh," came the whiny mimicking reply, followed by a quick "Thhhbbbbbbt!" Wally gave a quick glance at the rear view mirror to the stretched out passenger in the back. Eel sat with his back to the right rear door with his legs across the back seat. He returned Wally's gaze with a huge cheesy grin, then chugged from a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Dammit, Eel!" Wally shouted. "I told you to stay out of the back! That's for the party!"

"Hey, it ain't like you don't have enough booze back here to sink a battle cruiser, Wally." It seemed that Eel was already getting into the "party spirit". 

"What all did you get?" Kyle asked eagerly as he spun around in his seat, trying to sneak a peek into the back of the SUV. 

"What he got," Eel answered, a wide (and slightly drunken) smile across his face, "was enough alcohol to stock Warrior's for a month!"

"No shit?!" Kyle suddenly unlatched his seat belt, then climbed between the front seats, eagerly scrambling for the back of the SUV. He accidentally kicked Wally on his way back, but ignored the shouts from the front seat as he climbed over Eel and started rummaging through the stacks of alcohol in the rear of the vehicle. Wally glanced in his rearview mirror and was treated to two butts sticking up in the air as Eel and Kyle rummaged around in the stacks of bottles, giggling like schoolgirls. 

"C'mon, guys, we're like ten minutes away! Can't you two hold your wads long enough for us to get there? I promise you, that stuff's not gonna disappear before then." 

"Wanna bet," Eel mumbled jokingly to Kyle, taking another swig from the bottle he already had open. The two snickered at each other and continued their foraging. 

"Dammit, you two!" Wally shouted, then suddenly began jerking the wheel back and forth, causing the car to weave back and forth in the lane and jostling the pair in the back. After a few seconds of slamming into each other, Kyle and Eel reluctantly spun back around and sat down in the seats. "I swear," Wally mumbled as he straightened the car and began looking down the street for his destination, "you're like a couple of children."

A unison "Tthhhhhbbt!" from the backseat was his only response. Wally shook his head, chuckling lightly to himself. 

"Where'd you get all this stuff anyway?" Kyle asked, playful disappointment evident in his voice.

"Total Beverage," Wally answered.

"Total Beverage?" the now intrigued pair asked in unison.

"Yeah, Total Beverage. Dick told me about it. They basically take these old supermarket buildings and unused warehouses, renovate them and turn them into gigantic liquor stores. It's just rows and rows of every make, style and flavor of alcohol from all over the world, all in one place. It's incredible!" 

"Holy poo on a stick!" Eel replied, staring wide-eyed at Kyle. "That's sounds like a place I need to move next to!" 

"Dude, you'd go broke in a month." Kyle joked, then looked up at Wally's reflection in the rearview. "Speaking of which, how the hell did you afford all of this?" 

"I didn't," Wally answered tentatively. He'd been hoping to avoid this conversation, mostly because he knew where it would lead.

"What do you mean, you didn't? Even you couldn't have gotten out of there with this much booze without being noticed!" Kyle reasoned.

"No, I didn't _steal_ it, Kyle. What do you take me for?"

"An ass, but that's neither here nor there," Eel joined in. 

"Seriously, dude. How did you pay for it?" Kyle probed again.

Wally sighed. "I did this as a favor for Tim, so Tim hooked me up." 

"Tim?! How the hell did he buy all of this?!" Kyle gasped, astonished at the thought that a teenager could be making that much more money than he was.

"Tim didn't _buy_ it, per se" Wally answered, still trying to be a vague as possible. "He just hooked me up with a _way_ to pay for all of it." 

"Okay, Captain Vague, care to elaborate on that one?" Kyle probed, poking Wally in the back of the head. "How exactly did you pay for all this booze?!"

"I paid with a credit card," Wally replied, still hoping to avoid the inevitable...

"_Whose_ credit card?" Eel pushed. 

Wally gave a resigned sigh and glanced up into his rearview mirror at the four penetrating eyes staring back at him. Realizing that he could no longer hide the truth, he slowly shook his head and mumbled a response, too low for the backseat occupants to hear.

"What was that?" Kyle responded, leaning his ear toward the front seat. "Who did you say?"

Wally mumbled the answer again, louder but no more intelligible. Suddenly, Eel's head stretched up next to Wally, an ear the size of Wally's head bobbing up and down right beside him. "What was that? We couldn't quite hear you, Wals."

"Bruce Wayne, okay?" Wally shouted right into Eel's giant ear. Eel retracted his head to the back and began wiggling his finger in the ear that Wally had almost shouted off as Wally continued. "It was Bruce Wayne's credit card. Tim loaned it to me for the express purpose of purchasing the alcohol and renting this transportation to get it there. Okay? Happy now?"

"Bruce Wayne?" Kyle asked. "You mean as in Batman-Bruce Wayne? You mean as in Ol' Dark and Broody in the Cape and Cowl, multi-_bill_ionaire Bruce Wayne?!" 

"Yes, Kyle, _that_ Bruce Wayne," Wally confirmed as he pulled into the Wayne Enterprises parking garage.

"Let me get this right," Kyle began, his voice deceptively calm, "you were in a shopping mall-sized liquor store with a credit card that most likely has a spending limit greater than the Gross National Product of some third-world country and you didn't _call me_?!?" Kyle thumped him on the back of the head again for good measure, then scoffed. "And you call yourself a friend."

*****

  


Diana had a lot on her mind.

Surprisingly little of what had her mind swarming had to do with the cadre of Argentinean revolutionary soldiers she was currently facing. While most of the heads of state from Argentina had been in the United States for the UN conference, a small band of revolutionaries had taken the opportunity to stage a coup against a government that, they felt, had pushed their liberal agenda for far too long. Diana and the visiting Argentine dignitaries had received word of the coup and Diana had raced down to try and handle it quickly as a favor for Nestor Kirchner, the current President of Argentina - a man who was not only fighting corruption at the highest levels of his government, but was also putting forth the "radical notion" that they should nominate a woman to their Supreme Court. 

While facing off against close to two hundred armed soldiers should have had her complete focus, she found her mind wandering to thoughts of a more personal nature: Barbara Gordon's bachelorette party was to be starting in just under an hour. She had been wrestling with the decision to attend ever since she received the invitation. On the one hand, she felt an obligation to attend since the organizers had gone out of their way to send her an invitation. On the other hand, she wasn't entirely certain why she had received that invitation in the first place. 

Diana harbored no ill-will toward Miss Gordon - on the contrary, she found the young woman to be an intelligent, strong and beautiful person who had overcome staggering adversity and a life-threatening injury that had forced her to end her crime-fighting career. In fact, Diana had felt quite honored to receive the invitation, especially considering that she had never really had any close contact with the bride-to-be. She assumed that the invitation had been sent out of respect for young Richard's close friendship with Donna, but she couldn't help but wonder if maybe it had a slight hint of menace behind it. Diana had been fairly straightforward over the years (at least with Donna) that she had always expected Richard and Donna to end up together. Donna always poo-poo'ed the idea, repeatedly explaining that she and Richard were just close friends and that any thoughts of a romantic relationship between the two had long since passed. Although Diana genuinely liked Roy Harper, she never really thought of him as a lasting partner for Donna - he was too much like his former mentor for that. Richard, on the other hand, always seemed the perfect match... 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound - gunfire. Her arms immediately went into a blur of motion, deflecting bullets off of her bracelets with an instinctive ease. She leapt high into the air and came crashing down in the middle of this small band of soldiers, engaging them in close combat in order to keep them from firing and endangering any more innocent bystanders in the surrounding village. As her fist connected with one soldier's nose, her body locking into a familiar rhythm of combat, her mind began to wander again. 

Unsure of the true impetus behind the invitation, she had decided to take the question to the source, in a manner of speaking. She went to Donna. Before Diana got too far into a discussion over the wedding and what that meant for the possibility of a future relationship between Donna and Richard, Donna closed the subject once and for all. Richard was her friend - yes, a close, personal friend, but just a friend nonetheless - and he was marrying Barbara Gordon, a girl he has known and loved for many, many years. And, Donna added, she couldn't be happier for both of them, because she had always known that those two were meant for each other. Diana had tried to push the issue once more and had received "The Face" - that look that she had seen on Bruce and Kal's faces countless times - that look that meant the conversation was officially over. So she accepted Donna's stance (for the time being, anyway) and moved on to the reasons behind the invitation. 

The few remaining conscious soldiers broke away from the melee, running off toward the woods surrounding the village. Diana unlatched the lasso from her belt and hooked one of the fleeing men, yanking him back to her. Gripping the lasso tightly, she demanded that he tell her where his commander was located. The soldier stammered out a response, giving not only the location of the command tent, but a complete layout of the inside of the tent, the location of every guard protecting the tent and the hidden location of the commander's wife and children. Diana mercifully knocked the man unconscious, then took off in the direction of the command center. 

*****

  


The trio managed to get the overabundance of alcohol out of the back of the SUV and stacked into the elevator in the parking garage. Wally pressed the button for the top floor, silently marveling that 40 stories sure looked a hell of a lot taller on the outside. 

A strange silence filled the elevator as they started their ascent. They all knew Bruce had money - a _lot_ of money - but none of them had ever really been this close to what that money afforded. The small elevator lobby on the parking garage level had been ornately decorated and now the elevator itself was truly a sight to behold - polished brass handrail and control buttons, mirrored rear wall, carpeting that looked like it belonged on the floor of an old southern manor house. Even the loud, brash dinging that most elevators used to indicate the changing of floors had been replaced by a soft clicking that sounded less like a clanging announcement and more like a gentle reminder.

It was Kyle that actually broke the silence, commenting that he thought the elevator was larger than his first apartment. The three traded glances and immediately broke into laughter that underscored their own embarrassment. None of them wanted to admit to being impressed by the whole thing, but in an already impressive city... and in the middle of it all is this huge building with _his_ name on the front... 

They joked about people with more money than sense - obscene amounts of money that lead to almost laughable extravagances. 

"But it's not about _him_," Wally was quick to add. "Tonight's about Dick."

They all agreed, deciding that regardless of the location, this was a party and a _party_ to celebrate their friend's last night of freedom. It didn't matter that the party was being held in a room that probably cost more to furnish than all three of their apartments put together...

The elevator doors slid open and they immediately began unloading the cases. Halfway through the unload, Wally glanced around at the ornately lavish room. Or at least, it should have been an ornately lavish room - but instead what he saw was rows and rows of cubicles. He stopped, looking around in confusion. Kyle and Eel joined him and the three stood dumbfounded for a moment before Eel had to spring back and catch the closing elevator doors. 

Thankfully, they located a goateed, pony-tailed twentysomething working after hours who dismissively explained about the split-bank elevators: one set went from the lobby to the 40th floor and the other set went from 40 on up. He ignored their thank-yous and shooed them out of his cubicle so he could return to his work. They transferred the refreshments to one of the other elevators and were soon on their way to the 77th floor.

The squirrelly, after-hours corporate drone only added to their growing mirth. Eel mimicked the weaselly man and Wally did his best two-minute Arthuresque diatribe about the evils of corporate life in the big city. By the time the elevator reached the top floor, they were all laughing hysterically. Their laughter quickly died as they stepped out of the elevator and into the reception area of the executive offices. Eel held the elevator while Kyle and Wally approached the young switchboard-receptionist at the front desk and asked for the Penthouse. 

The young woman stared at them quizzically for a moment, then informed them that the Penthouse could only be reached through the express elevator - back down in the lobby. Wally and Kyle looked at each other, exasperated, and replied in sarcastic unison.

"Of course." 

Shaking their heads, they made their way back to the elevator, filled Eel in on the story and the trio headed back down, chuckling the whole way. They ran into the twentysomething again on the 40th floor as they transferred their haul back to the lower-bank elevator and had to control their own laughter as he rode back down to the lobby with them. Eel certainly wasn't helping by making faces at the back of the businessman's head. The young worker ignored the stifled chuckles behind him as he tapped away on his handheld personal organizer, thinking about all of the potential "brownie points" he would acquire for having the forethought to call security after his first run-in with these miscreants. They would certainly be in for a surprise once they reached the lobby.

*****

  


During their previous conversation, Donna had confirmed to Diana that she, too, had received an invitation to Barbara's bridal shower but that she was not going to be able to attend - she had promised Roy to look after Lian so he could attend Richard's bachelor party. Diana was always glad to see Donna take such an active interest in helping to raise Roy's daughter so all disappointment over Donna not attending the shower quickly faded. Diana had mostly decided not to attend the party considering Donna would not be there, but was still a bit baffled by the invitation. Donna continued to express that it must be because of Richard's friendship that Diana had received the invitation, but Diana could sense that her "sister" was withholding something. Diana continued to press but Donna would only tell her that there might be other reasons that she was not at liberty to discuss. A lengthy conversation on Truth and Trust soon followed, that concluded with Donna dropping a major bombshell on Diana...

An explosion rocked Diana from her thoughts again and threw her off-course. She quickly scanned the ground and located the source of the attack. The soldier was frantically attempting to load another projectile into his shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. Before he could lock the rocket into the tube, he suddenly found himself hurling through the air and into a bank of trees some 200 yards behind his guard station. Diana stood in his guard post, the soldier's rocket launcher gripped tightly in her hand. She glanced around at the other sentries, then bent the rocket launcher in half. Most of the other sentries traded glances, then deserted their posts and ran off. Those that didn't soon found themselves relieved of their positions by a well placed kick or flying punch. After sailing through the woods and knocking out the snipers guarding the compound from the trees, Diana landed in front of the compound's main gate and strolled defiantly into the camp.

Barbara Gordon was the daughter of Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon. Barbara Gordon had been a librarian and a student at Hudson University. Barbara Gordon had also been Batgirl. Barbara Gordon had been shot and then brutalized by the Joker, resulting in a spinal cord injury that left her wheelchair-bound for life. All of these things Diana knew - had known them for a long time, as did many of the Justice League members and many more in the superhero community. What Diana _hadn't_ known, and what Donna had inadvertently blurted out during their conversation, was that Barbara Gordon was, in fact, _Oracle_! This piece of information added a whole new dimension to Diana's decision - she hadn't just been invited to Barbara's bachelorette party because of her relationship to Donna, but because Barbara was a fellow member of the Justice League! Diana had already convinced herself that she needn't attend the party before Donna told her the whole truth and now Diana found herself reconsidering once again.

Within several minutes, the revolutionaries' campground was strewn with unconscious soldiers and destroyed weaponry. Diana quickly dispatched the guards forming a human shield in front of the command tent and strolled through the flap into what was once of the shoddiest looking command centers she had ever seen. After disabling lieutenants and personal guards, Diana stood face to face with the leader of this little movement as he clutched a loaded AK-47 rifle pointed directly at her head. Seconds later, "Commandant" Miguel Manuela found himself disarmed and face down on his make-shift desk. Diana bound him with the lasso and set him on his knees in front of her, demanding a confession.

And confess, he did. He confessed to organizing the coup and planning it for the week of the UN Conference. He confessed to amassing the army of soldiers through strong-arm and guerrilla tactics, forcing many members of the former ruling party to join or be killed. He also confessed to receiving financial and legal support from several sitting judges on the Argentine Supreme Court who were hell-bent against allowing a woman on the bench. Before Diana could stop him, Miguel Manuela also sobbingly confessed to his own personal reasons for staging the coup - that his long-seeded animosity toward his own stern mother had shoved him into a life of degrading and admonishing women of power. He confessed that his mother, a seamstress, used to make him wear girl's dresses so that she could hem them. He confessed that his biggest fear in life was a female with power over him and that he feared that the current Argentine governmental movement was simply the first step at women taking over his beloved country - that while a lone woman in power might make things difficult, opening the door to many women was too great a risk, because when women band together, no man could oppose them...

Diana stared at him for a moment, then removed the lasso. She grabbed a rope off of a nearby munitions case and tied up the now sobbing Commandant, who let out a faint whimper as she yanked the knot a little too tightly around his wrists. All day, she had been battling in her own mind over the decision of whether to go to Barbara's bachelorette party or not and this little misogynistic bigot had just made the main point she'd missed throughout the entire process. Oracle was the only other female member of the active JLA roster! And as such, Diana knew she had a moral obligation to be there to support her. This went beyond personal concerns, this surpassed all concerns over social niceties - this was about two strong, independent women, joining together in a den of testosterone. This was about achieving true women's equality in a reputed Boys Club! Barbara wasn't just a casual acquaintance, Barbara wasn't just a former hero. Barbara was a Sister in Arms!

*****

  


Brian Kesner, the late-night worker from the 40th floor, couldn't help the smug grin creeping across his lips as the elevator doors opened to reveal two Wayne Enterprises security guards standing in the lobby. The grin evaporated immediately when he noticed that standing between the guards was...

"M-M-Mister Wayne!" 

Brian dropped his briefcase and fumbled with his PDA, nearly dropping it too before managing to slide it back into its belt holster with a shaky hand. The CEO of Wayne Enterprises took a step forward and held out his hand. Surprising himself, Brian managed to shake it without puking all over the imposing figure's shoes. 

"Mr... Kesner, is it?" The light baritone voice belied the man's size. Brian had never met the man in person and was immediately taken aback by his over-six-foot frame. Not only that, but he knew his name - the owner and CEO of the large corporation where he'd been working for only 9 short months actually knew who he was! 

"Y-yes, sir. Brian Kesner. A-Accounts Receivable, Engineering Division," he stammered. 

"Well, Mr. Kesner, thank you for helping my friends find their way," his employer said graciously. "They seem to have gotten a little lost on their way to the Penthouse."

"Y-You're friends?" Brian asked, then shot a glance back over his own shoulder to see the three guys standing in the elevator behind him smiling widely as they held the doors open. The odd one in the glasses and pompadour haircut waved. Realization suddenly slapped him across the face like a wet fish - these three drunkards were _friends_ of Bruce Wayne... lost... here for some party... the Penthouse?!? No wonder Mr. Wayne was there! Security no doubt notified him right after Brian had called them... oh God!... right after Brian had called them and told them that there were three drunken reprobates parading the halls with a shitload of booze! That's why Mr. Wayne knew who he was. Security must have told him that he had called... and... Oh God, No. He'd called his boss's friends drunkards... and idiots... and... oh God! And now his boss - you know, the guy whose name is on the front of the building, the guy who signs his checks! - was standing there in front of him, shaking his hand and thanking him for... oh God!... and WHY AM I STILL HOLDING HIS HAND!?!... 

"Y-you're w-welcome..." Brian managed a weak smile as he released Mr. Wayne's hand. He stood there, silently quaking and grinning like a jackass. 

"Good night, Mister Conner," Bruce said vacantly, turning his attention to his guests. Brian, too frightened to correct the man on his name, hurriedly scooped up his briefcase and stumbled out toward the door, followed by one of the two security guards. 

"Good evening, boys," Bruce greeted as he glanced into the elevator. He looked at the massive stack of alcohol then turned to Wally. "Think there's enough for everyone?" It sounded like a honest question, not a hint of sarcasm at all. Before Wally could decide if he was being judgmental or not, Bruce stepped aside, revealing an older man in a Wayne Enterprises maintenance uniform with a large, flat-bed handcart. 

"Damn," Wally commented, "I should have thought of that!"

They loaded the drinks onto the cart and followed Bruce and the remaining security guard toward the rear of the lobby, the maintenance man bringing up the rear, pushing the now-laden cart. Bruce patted the pockets of his suit as they reached a set of shiny brass doors, then turned a plaintive eye to the security guard. The guard produced a security badge from a retractable zip-line on his belt and slid it into a slot next to the doors. 

The doors slid open to reveal an even larger and more ornate elevator than before. They all filed in except for the guard. Bruce turned and thanked the guard by name, and asked him to say hello to his wife and kids. As the elevator started to move, Wally apologized for getting lost, explaining that they had never seen a building with different elevators for different floors.

What happened next scared the trio more than anything they had ever seen Bruce do as Batman. He rambled. Bruce - master of the one-word answer - launched into a light, long-winded explanation about how split-level elevators helped to move large quantities of employees between so many floors in a shorter amount of time and how it helped to maintain the structural integrity of the buildings to not have giant holes through the center of the buildings going from foundation to roof... and on and on and on. As he blathered on, the trio traded shocked glances back and forth, completely dumbfounded by this drastic difference in demeanor from their usually monosyllabic comrade. Wally was the first to key in to the fact that had the maintenance man not been in the elevator with them, they probably wouldn't be witnessing this strange presentation, but that didn't reduce the Twilight Zone-iness of it all. It was a bizarre display for all three of them - it was their first introduction to The Fop. By the time they reached the Penthouse Suite, none of them could believe - even though they _knew_ the truth - that this blathering, vapid idiot was the same man under the Cape and Cowl that was justifiably considered one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

As they exited the elevator, Tim rushed up to them, letting out an overly-relieved sigh. They all helped set up the bar area and Bruce dismissed the maintenance guy with a warm handshake and the promise of a healthy quarterly bonus.

Twenty minutes later, most of the guests had arrived, including the guest of honor. Little pockets of conversation peppered the suite as the guests mingled around - each taking a turn at congratulating Dick on his upcoming nuptials and congratulating Tim on organizing the party. 

Kyle made a point of telling every new person he ran across about how Bruce had scared the living piss out of this weaselly little bean-counter - and laughing hysterically each time he did. Wally, as the purveyor of the alcohol, found himself being designated de facto bartender - for all of about ten minutes until he emphatically announced that the bar was now Self Serve. He didn't want to get stuck pouring drinks all night and missing out on the fun - especially if Oliver Queen showed. Being _that_ man's bartender was a full-time job. 

*****

  


Diana stood outside the door to Barbara's apartment. She'd made good time from Argentina but was still arriving close to two hours late. Common courtesy dictated that when one attended a bachelorette party/bridal shower, one should bring a gift for the bride-to-be, so Diana had stopped by a small shop she knew of in Mexico City that had the most precious little hand-carved statues. She debated her choices for a few moments, deciding that giving an ornate sculpture of _Chicomecoatl_ - the Mayan Goddess of Corn and _Fertility_ - to a woman who was paralyzed from the waist down could potentially appear insensitive. She had opted, instead, for a small hand-carved bone statue of _Ix Chel_ - The Mayan Goddess of the Moon. It somehow seemed more fitting.

She raised her hand to knock on Barbara's door, then paused. The laughter and merriment from inside the apartment could be heard in the hallway, but Diana's ears singled out one particular voice from amongst the others. 

Lois Lane.

Diana hadn't considered that Kal's wife would be at the party. It was no secret that Lois disliked Diana - though for what reasons, Diana couldn't even begin to imagine - and so whenever they had been together in any sort of social setting... 

Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea...

Diana shook her head lightly, chiding herself for such a ridiculous concern. Tonight was about Barbara, not Lois or herself. She raised her hand again and knocked loudly on the door. After a few moments, the door opened revealing Barbara, who suddenly had a rather surprised look on her face.

"Diana! You made it after all. How... wonderful."

*****

  


Clark happily listened to Steve, Dick's third groomsman, spin tale after tale about Dick's misspent college days - the all-night parties, the drunken pranks and, of course, the women. Not that he was particularly delighted by the stories, funny though they were - no, he was more delighted just that Steve was there. One "normal" civilian meant that all of the superpowers in the room had to keep their true identities under wraps - and that meant that the chances of another debacle like at his _own_ bachelor party were pretty slim. 

The Penthouse elevator dinged an arrival and Oliver Queen walked into the room. Clark watched intently as Ollie made a bee-line for the bar, grabbed a bottle of tequila and headed toward Wally and Kyle. Clark traded silent glances with Bruce, standing on the other side of Steve. With a slight nod, they both made an unspoken vow to keep a watchful eye on the goateed archer - there was no telling what kind of trouble he would get himself into. 

Across the room, Kyle almost immediately snuck away from Ollie and Wally and latched on to Dick and Tim instead. The truth was, Ollie made him nervous - almost as nervous as Batman made him, but for _entirely_ different reasons. While Batman made you think he was always one second away from snapping you in half like a twig, Ollie had that inscrutable way of making you think he would willingly lead you to your own destruction - and make you enjoy every step of the way. And while that can be kind of fun from time to time, Kyle certainly didn't want to do it in Batman's Penthouse Suite... at least, not without a shitload more "liquid courage"... 

Meanwhile, Eel was scouring the Penthouse, looking for a Wayne Enterprises telephone in a discreet location. Somewhere in his drunken brain, he had come to the conclusion that Bruce Wayne having such an obscenely large bank account while there were so many others with so much less (Eel included, of course) bordered on criminal - and Eel was a crime-fighter! He was Plastic Man, damn it, and his purpose in life was to thwart criminals and to fight for those less fortunate souls. So in his quest to strike back against the "evil rich", he had decided that a few lengthy long-distance phone calls to Japan would hit the corporate fat cat where it hurt - in the wallet. It didn't matter that this same "corporate fat cat" was also Batman - in fact, in his mind, that made it worse! Hypocrisy, thy name is Crime Fighter! 

About halfway through his search - and halfway through the bottle of vodka he'd lifted from the bar - he'd forgotten why he was searching in the first place, his quest drowned out in a sea of extravagant décor, luxurious furniture and remarkable Russian potato liquor. He stared, glassy-eyed, about the room, his mind wandering to far more… personal endeavors. He began to wonder exactly what it would take to sneak a woman into this place - that with a place like this, he would undoubtedly be able to "close the deal" with just about any woman he chose… but to get her past security… never mind W.E. security, but Bruce was sure to have his own Bat-level kind of protection on this place… and the woman would have to be in on it and… he was pretty sure Catwoman could do it! Mmm… Catwoman…

As if somehow magically drawn to the lewd and lascivious thoughts of others, Ollie sauntered up to Eel. "How bout this place, huh?" Ollie asked, motioning around the suite with a wave of his hand. "Have you ever seen a more elaborate display of snobby, elitist, pretentious bullshit in your life?" 

Suddenly shaken from his thoughts of illicit rendezvous' with the purple-clad beauty, Eel woozily followed Ollie's hand gesture, then sloppily grunted an agreement. 

Ollie continued, using a high snobby voice. "Ooo! Look at me, I've got money... OOooOOooOOoo!" He grunted in disgust, then pointed to a small elaborately-decorated amphora displayed on a small shelf. "And to think, that vase over there could easily support a staving nation..." 

Eel agreed with a bob of his head, then raised the vodka bottle to his lips. Seizing his moment, Ollie leaned in and added with a sly grin, "... or your hooker habit." 

The resultant spit-take was loud enough to grab the attention of everyone in attendance. Most of the partygoers turned just in time to see Oliver slowly wiping the vodka off of his face. Clark and Bruce traded glances, each ready to intercede before Eel ended up as a wall decoration, but Wally beat them both to it. After a few minutes, Kyle joined Eel, Wally and Ollie as well and Clark and Bruce returned to their conversation with Steve and Tim. 

A short while later, upon overhearing discussions of purple leather, Tommy Monaghan and broken glass, Clark turned to Bruce again only to see him already staring intently at the quartet. Bruce excused himself and strolled over, returning shortly with Kyle in tow. Wally eventually wandered off to join his old Titans buddies at the poker table, leaving Eel and Ollie alone and trading drinking stories of the "Young and Super".

Kyle was finally able to sneak away from the conversation with Steve and Clark and wander over to the poker table.

"Favorite Fantasy TV Star:" Roy offered, glancing around the poker table mischievously before supplying his answer, "Lucy Lawless!" 

The others around the table - Gar Logan, Vic Stone and Wally - all groaned and tossed quarters onto the growing pile in the center of the table. They all turned to look at Wally, seated to Roy's left. As he sat, thinking hard, Kyle came up to the table, bottle in hand.

"Hey guys, whassup?" he greeted slowly, eying the rest of the room quickly before sneaking a sip of his Zima. They all greeted in return, their eyes never leaving Wally. Wally glanced around at each of them, then cocked a sly grin. 

"Favorite Action TV Actor: Lorenzo Lamas," Wally supplied and another round of quarters hit the pile. 

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Kyle asked, staring at the shining pile of silver on the table.

"Superman Bingo," they replied in hushed unison. Wally shot a quick glance around and saw Clark, Bruce, Dick and Steve, engrossed in their own conversation, seemingly oblivious to the goings-on at the "poker table". 

"Superman what?" Kyle asked, obviously a little too loudly for the players liking as they all shushed him harshly.

"Superman Bingo," Gar reiterated in a low voice before returning his attention to the other players. "Favorite Movie: Liar, Liar."

Vic, Roy and Wally all tossed quarters onto the pile as Kyle looked on in confusion. Wally reached back and pulled another chair up to the table, motioning for Kyle to sit beside him. As Kyle sat, Wally leaned over and explained the rules. 

"Okay, you know about Superman and the number of double-L people around him, right?" he asked. 

"Sure," Kyle replied. Most of the Superhero community was aware enough about Superman's life to know that for some reason, people with the initials "L.L." always seemed to gravitate toward him. It had become a long-running joke amongst many in the community that any time they came across some new villain with the initials "L.L.", they were to notify Superman immediately. "Lois Lane, Lex Luthor, Lana Lang... we all know about that..."

"Right, so that's the basic premise behind Superman Bingo," Wally explained. "Basically, the object is to come up with as many double-L names as you can and how they relate to Superman. It goes around the table clockwise, each person adding a name. Every successful name, everyone except the namer throws a quarter into the pile. Once you get stumped, you're out and the remaining people continue until there's only one left. The winner gets the pot."

"Okaaaay," Kyle replied slowly, still not quite grasping the point of the game. "So, what's with the cards?" he asked, pointing toward the playing card hands that all the participants held. 

"The cards are just a smokescreen," Wally explained, lowering his voice even more. "Y'know, considering who is in attendance tonight..." he nodded in Clark's direction. 

Kyle glanced over, then nodded. "Ah, I see."

"Favorite Clothing Catalogue: L.L. Bean." Vic offered.

Wally motioned toward the pile after he tossed in his quarter. "As you can see, we've been at it for a while, so we're starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel. This is where it starts to get interesting." Kyle sat in silence, watching the game progress. 

It was back to Roy. He studied the pile for a moment, fingering the stack of quarters in his hand. The other players traded grins, thinking they'd come to their first elimination of the game. Roy suddenly flashed a smile. "Favorite TV Show: LA Law." 

They all groaned in disappointment and tossed their quarters in. Wally looked at Kyle again, then leaned in to explain more. "Okay, if you want in, you have to ante in - a quarter in the pile and you immediately get next turn. If you need change, Roy's got the bank." He pointed to the large sack on the corner of the table next to Roy. "Couple more rules: no repeats, no passing and there's a one minute time limit."

Kyle nodded, content to just watch the game for a moment. At least it was more fun than being stuck between Bruce and Ollie as they verbally sparred with each other. 

"Favorite Female songwriter: Lisa Loeb," Wally put in. Several of the others cursed quietly as they tossed in their quarters. Everyone looked at Gar, who was looking around nervously.

"Damn you, West," Gar grumbled, then began tapping his cards nervously on the table as his mind scrolled through his mental Rolodex. Before he could come up with an answer, a hand stretched in to the middle of the table and dropped a quarter on the pile. All eyes turned to see the pliable newcomer smiling widely.

"Favorite Porn Star:" Eel intoned playfully. "Linda Lovelace!" 

"Oh yeah," Wally grumbled sarcastically, reluctantly tossing his quarter in with everyone else, "because, as we all know, Supes is _all_ about the porn."

The others laughed as Eel stuck his tongue out at Wally. "Just because he's 'super', doesn't mean he's not still a 'man'," the Man of Plastic offered. "And a man has needs..."

"Ulgh," Vic responded lowly, "can we please avoid discussions of Superman's masturbatory impulses, Eel. That's just... wrong." 

Eel began making an obscene hand gesture and scrunched up his face in a look of intense concentration. "Up... up.... and awaaaaaaaay..."

The whole table groaned in disgust, Vic and Gar grabbing Eel's arms and pulling him down into a chair. Once seated, Eel received a slap on the back of the head from Vic. "Thanks a lot, Eel. I'll have that mental image stuck in my head for days now..."

"Back to you, Garfield," Roy instructed, chuckling as he added the newest entry on the list. He looked up from his pad, quickly flipped a page over and held up his cards. "Cards up guys!" he whispered forcefully.

Vic, Wally and Gar all held their card hands up like they were actually playing poker. Confused, Eel and Kyle glanced at each other, then turned just in time to see Clark stroll up. 

"Gentlemen," Clark greeted cheerily, clasping Wally and Kyle on the shoulders. "How are we this fine evening?"

They all returned their greetings, still feigning their poker game, each one of them positive that they were busted. 

"I hate to intrude," Clark continued, "but apparently, Steve wants to make some sort of announcement and has asked that we all join him."

"Sure," Roy happily chirped, looking at the other players as they all mentally breathed a sigh of relief. They all stood, laying their cards down and leaving their individual piles of quarters on the table in front of their respective seats.

They all moved to join Clark, who was now standing a few away with his hand in his pocket.

"Oh, and by the way?" Clark smiled, freezing them all in place as six hearts leapt into six throats. They stared in wide-eyed amazement as he pulled his hand out of his pocket and tossed a quarter onto the pile on the table.

"Favorite Pop-Star: Lisa 'Left-eye' Lopez. Triple-L - ultimate trump. I win." 

*****

**Saturday**

  


**Transcript: The Cannity & Holmes News Hour  
© AlternativeNews Network.  
(cont.)**

**CANNITY:** I know exactly what you mean, Mr. McKinley. It's exactly this type of pandering in the "Mainstream Media" that allows this abuse of power to continue. Where is the balance? Where is the Truth? Where is the voice of the common man? I'll tell you where! Right here, ladies and gentlemen, on the Cannity & Holmes News Hour where we continue to break through the BS and bring you the cold hard facts. Now, I have here a news report from this morning's paper - and a story that I think our guest, Mr. Leon McKinley will find quite interesting. Now, keep in mind that I found this story in the Gotham Times - a well known hot-bed of liberal-agenda-pushing spinmeisters - and that I found this story on page forty two of the Local section. Not on the front page, not as a banner headline, but on page forty-two of the Local section! [Hands newspaper to McKinley] Have you seen this article, Mr. McKinley?

**MCKINLEY:** Yes. Yes I have.

**CANNITY:** What this article states, ladies and gentlemen, is that last night, right here in Gotham City, there was a vicious assault by one of Gotham City's most notorious villains - Poison Ivy - on an unsuspecting and helpless collection of men at... wait for it... a bachelor party! That's right, a bunch of friends, getting together and enjoying one man's last night of freedom - a happy gathering among friends and they were targeted by this... insane woman! Now, as horrid as that sounds, that's not the real story here. Oh no, the real story is that the groom-to-be, an off-duty Blüdhaven police officer, managed to subdue and disable this criminal before anyone was hurt! That's right, this well-known Gotham criminal heavyweight was taken down by a normal, every-day American - NOT some super-powered 'hero'. 

**MCKINLEY:** Exactly, Mr. Cannity. You see, this just illustrates that these so-called 'heroes' aren't the only ones capable of protecting the normal, decent citizens of this country. Here's this normal, off-duty police officer, having his last hurrah with his compatriots and this Super-Villain just bursts in, bringing chaos and destruction in her wake. And does this young man call for help? Does he open a window and scream for some mythical hero figure to come and rescue them from the evil clutches of this evil temptress? No! Like any good, decent American, he defends his honor and defends his friends - disabling the criminal and saving the day. So this just leads me to the question - if we're perfectly capable of handing these menaces to society by ourselves, do we really need these so-called "superheroes" parading around, doing more damage than good?

**CANNITY:** Do we indeed, Mr. McKinley. Do we indeed...

*****

  


Webster clicked off the television and stared at the blank screen for a moment, deep in thought. After yesterday's weekly meeting, J'onn had pulled him aside to talk to him a bit about the job he was doing. J'onn had said that they all thought he was doing a wonderful job, but that they wanted him to focus his direction a little more - to work specifically on retorting or deflecting the growing negative backlash against the JLA. 

"Finally," he thought to himself. The League had finally gotten with the program and realized that in order for him to be effective, he needed to be handling these things in a much more direct manner. His hands were finally untied and he would now be able to run the kind of PR campaign he had wanted to all along - and this kind of campaign was something he excelled at. 

The main trick, of course, was to find the enemy - find the loudest proponent of the opposition and take the wind out of their sails. It was not unlike the strategy his clients used on the battlefield - find the biggest threat and destroy it first. An agent could easily get mired down trying to handle each individual negative story but in Webster's experience, the best defense was to find the loudest detractor and take them down. Once the biggest opponent gets toppled, the rest of the opposition tends to fade away, at least for a while.

As soon as J'onn had finished talking with him, Webster knew exactly what he had to do - take on this Leon McKinley guy. McKinley was, by far, the loudest opponent of the League and the Poster-boy for the Anti-Superhuman movement. Taking him down would be a huge step forward in shifting public perception back in the League's favor...

"Excuse me. Mr. Hoyt, sir?" 

The timid voice shook Webster from his thoughts. He turned to see an attractive, young-looking blonde woman standing in the doorway to his office, a large pile of folders and binders in her arms. 

"Who are you?" Webster gruffly asked.

"J-Julie, sir," the young woman replied, visibly nervous. "Julie Meriwether."

Webster calmed, the annoyance of being interrupted starting to fade away. "Well, Julie Meriwether, would you mind telling me what you're doing in my office?" 

"W-well, sir, Mrs. White asked me t-to compile this stuff for you, sir, and I..." Julie stammered.

"Okay, backup a minute," Webster interrupted. "You work here?"

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Hoyt. Since yesterday... I.. I'm your new intern, sir." 

"I see. And Laura - Mrs. White - hired you?"

"Yes, sir. Ten hours a week, sir." 

"And she asked you to bring me those things? What are they?"

"Well, she didn't ask me to bring them directly to you, sir, but since it's Saturday and she's not here and I finished putting these together just now and I figured you'd want them because she said it was important and..."

Webster held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Ms. Meriwether. What is all of that?" he asked, pointing to the large stack of folders piled up almost to her chin. 

"Mrs. White asked me yesterday to compile any information I could find on a... L-Leon McKinley, sir..." It sounded more like a question, as if she were trying to verify the instructions she was given the previous day. "She told me it could wait until Monday, sir, but I finished up this morning and I saw that you were here so I..."

"That's the McKinley files?" Webster asked, at bit surprised at the size of the pile.

"Y-yes, sir," she confirmed.

Webster excitedly motioned to his desk as he moved around behind it. "Please, set it all right here."

Julie moved across the office and placed the pile gently on the desk, then separated the files into smaller piles to prevent them from all falling over. Webster looked at the piles then back to the intern. 

"So, Mrs. White gave you this assignment yesterday, told you it could wait until Monday, yet you came in and finished up this morning?"

"Y-yes, sir," she replied tentatively.

"And you compiled all of this by yourself, Ms. Meriwether?" 

"Y-yes sir,"

"Why?" 

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Why?" Webster repeated. "Why come in on the weekend and finish this up when Mrs. White told you to wait until Monday?"

"I..." she paused, looking down in embarrassment. "I w-wanted to make a good first impression, sir."

"I see," Webster replied, a small smirk crossing his face. "Consider a good impression made, Ms. Meriwether."

Her head suddenly shot up, a warm smile crossing her face. "Really, sir? Thank you, sir!" 

"I mean it, Julie," he replied, smiling in return. "Nice job here. Thank you." 

"Y-you're welcome, sir," she bubbled.

"Now go home." His smile disappeared as he focused on the piles of information in front of him. 

"S-sir?" she responded, her nervousness returning.

"Go home. It's Saturday, for chrissakes. Go enjoy your weekend and we'll see you on Monday."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled again, relieved, then turned and headed toward the door.

"And Julie?" Webster called after her just as she reached the doorway. She turned back to regard him.

"Welcome aboard," he added with a smile. She thanked him again and left, quietly closing the door behind her. Webster couldn't help but chuckle lightly as he pulled the folder off the top of the first pile and began to read.

*****

****

Sunday

  


Wally stood alone in the entryway to the gardens behind Wayne Manor, sipping his champagne and watching the handful of workers as they broke down the ceremony area.

"It was a beautiful ceremony, don't you think?"

Startled, Wally turned to see Bruce standing quietly a few feet behind him. Even out of the cape and cowl... how did he do that?!?

"Yes, it was," Wally agreed, once he'd managed to reconcile the out-of-cowl Batman magical appearing act in his mind. Bruce joined him at the entryway, both of them looking out over the grounds. After a few moments of strangely comfortable silence, Bruce spoke.

"Wally, you know that Dick and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things..." 

Absently, Wally turned to look back at Bruce and responded jokingly. "That's an understatement..." He immediately kicked himself mentally, remembering who he was talking to. Bruce turned to regard him and Wally thought he saw that glimmer of the Bat in Bruce's gaze, but as soon as it appeared, it vanished - replaced with a light smile.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Bruce replied calmly. "One of the main things that we always disagreed on was his role in the Titans. I always thought that he was just being rebellious - that you all were. I thought that the Titans was your collective way of striking back at us..."

Wally inhaled, about to retort, then stopped suddenly as that look returned to Bruce's face - that look Wally had seen a thousand times underneath the cowl - the look that said that in no uncertain terms should you interrupt him again. And just as suddenly as before, the look disappeared. 

"But seeing Dick up there today," Bruce continued, turning back to look out over the grounds again, "and seeing you standing there beside him... I realized exactly how much you all meant to each other. I know that the five of you were closer than any of us in the League ever were. I can see now that you and the others were there for Dick in ways that I could never have been, that you all were... and are... so important to him... and I see now how instrumental you were in making him the man that he is today. It makes me glad as a friend and mentor and proud as a father to know that he's always had people like you to count on. And I understand why he chose you to be there with him on what is probably the most important day of his life. What I'm trying to say is..." 

He turned to Wally, extending his hand. "...Thank you."

As The Flash, Wally had seen things that would cause most normal people to pass out. He had seen some of the strangest people and places imaginable and witnessed some of the most bizarre occurrences in the history of the universe - and done it all with his own grace and style. But being on the receiving end of that speech was hands-down the most bizarre thing he had ever experienced. He realized that that speech hadn't come from the gruff and overbearing Bat - nor had it come from The Fop that Wally had been introduced to just two nights before. No, the man standing in front of him at that moment was Bruce Wayne - the _real_ Bruce Wayne - who was honestly and sincerely offering his thanks. Wally was shocked - absolutely floored. What did this mean? What would happen next? Would Batman suddenly become a more gentle, easy-to-get-along with person?! What would their next confrontation in costume be like? Was all Time and Space about to collapse in on itself...

"You're welcome," Wally replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He breathed a mental sigh of relief as the Universe maintained its structural integrity and the Earth continued to spin. The two men traded warm smiles, then released the handshake and both turned back to the entryway in silence. 

"It was a beautiful ceremony, don't you think?"

Bruce and Wally turned to see Clark approaching. Wally felt a strange sense of relief wash over him as the bespectacled reporter neared them and he recognized the sensation as one he'd felt a hundred times in the field - Superman had just swooped in to save the day. 

"Hey Clark," Wally greeted, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Yes, we were just saying that..." 

"Clark," Bruce greeted, shaking the man's hand. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Clark responded. Wally stood there, still reeling over what had transpired while Clark and Bruce cheerily discussed the wedding. For some reason, Wally was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the whole conversation.

"Where is Lois, anyway?" Wally heard Bruce ask and he forced himself to focus back on the current conversation.

Clark answered, unable to hide a smirk. "It seems that your girlfriend had received a few too many 'Mrs. Wayne' comments for her liking and she absconded with my wife, Dinah and... some other woman I didn't recognize... for the express purpose of draining as many bottles of your expensive champagne as humanly possible." 

The two men stared at each other for a moment, the "some other woman I didn't recognize" comment hanging in the air between them. Bruce, knowing full well that Clark had more information than he was admitting, felt his jaw stiffen lightly. Clark, firmly displaying a "don't ask, don't tell" expression, offered no further explanation. 

Wally, who honestly thought he couldn't be shocked any more that he already was, almost dropped his champagne as he witnessed one of the most intense and frightening transformations in existence. Bruce's entire demeanor suddenly and abruptly changed - his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darkened and his entire body seemed to just become more... dense. Wally swore that he could actually see the outline of the cowl suddenly appear on Bruce's face as he looked past Clark back toward the main area of the house. 

"Wonderful." It was a voice that Wally knew all too well - Batman was not happy. He watched as Bruce excused himself and moved away. It wasn't an angry stomp or even an agitated march - it was a walk with purpose. Batman was on the case...

After watching Bruce round the corner and disappear, Wally looked down into his champagne flute, watching the tiny bubbles cascading up the side of the glass. "That was... weird," he muttered to himself. 

Thinking that Wally was speaking to him, Clark agreed. "I've known that man for ages," he offered, "and sometimes seeing him shift into Bat-mode like that is still... disconcerting."

Not wanting to reveal that he had meant his and Bruce's earlier conversation - and not entirely certain that he _could_ explain it at that moment anyway - Wally simply nodded and took another sip of his drink.

"You guys did great up there today," Clark offered, sensing the need for a change in topics. "All three of you - you, Steve and Tim. You looked really sharp."

"Thanks," Wally replied, glad to pull his thoughts away from the maelstrom in his mind. 

"Speaking of Tim, have you seen him recently? I've been looking all over for him to offer my congratulations..."

"Last I saw," Wally answered with a chuckle, "he was passed out in the Dining Hall." 

Clark lowered his glasses down his nose with one finger and glanced out over the rims, scanning the manor with his x-ray vision. Sure enough, there was Tim, head down on the dining table, breathing in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. "Poor kid," Clark remarked, sliding his glasses back up his nose. "He's exhausted."

"It's no wonder," Wally stated, "poor kid's had a rough couple of days. Between being Dick's 'handler' this morning, the rehearsal dinner yesterday and Friday night's bachelor party..."

Wally sensed Clark stiffen slightly at the mention of the party. He cocked a grin in Clark's direction and inquired slyly, "Still in the doghouse?"

Clark's face twisted into a strange amalgamation of offense and disgust - as if the very concept of _Superman_ being "in the doghouse" was ludicrous. Then suddenly, he relented, letting that aw-shucks farmboy smile shine through. "Aren't you?" 

"No, this bastard got off light!" Kyle replied, walking up toward the pair with three small plates balanced in his grasp. On the plates were pieces of cake - two white, one a dark chocolate color. 

"Just for my buds," Kyle announced, handing each of them a plate. "For the Clarkster - one slice of yummy white wedding cake. And for Wally, a slice of yummy chocolate groom's cake, just because I know how much you love chocolate."

"Thanks Kyle!" Wally smiled, placing his champagne flute on a nearby end table and scooping up a forkful of cake.

Clark, too, took the proffered cake with a smile and began to eat. After swallowing the first bite, he cast a questioning look at Kyle. "What did you mean: 'he got off light'?"

Kyle glanced around, making sure they were out of earshot from prying ears, then explained. "You see, it turns out that Mister Speedy here has this extra-fast metabolism - so like thirty seconds after Dick put Miss Isley down for good, he was free and clear of all the effects of her toxins while the rest of us spent the next several hours having to explain to our significant others why we had the overwhelming urge to convince them to dye their hair red..." 

Clark looked to Wally for confirmation and Wally simply waggled his eyebrows as he swallowed another forkful of cake. After his third bite, Wally's lips curled back slightly and he eyed the cake warily.

"Are you okay, Wally?" Clark asked, noticing the grimace. "Is the cake bad?" 

"No, it's not _bad_, per se," Wally offered, sniffing the cake lightly. "It's just not what I was expecting, I guess..." He took another bite of the cake as if testing it, then shrugged. 

"Anyway," Kyle continued, unfazed by Wally's cake issues. "It seems this jackass skates by with a simple explanation while the rest of us have to face the wrath of our collective women-folk. All because his body can process toxins at light speed."

Clark turned to Kyle, a look of confusion on his face. "Kyle, how is it that you know so much about Wally's metabolism?"

Kyle smirked as he took another bite of his own cake. "Funny story. About a week ago, I was in Manchester following a lead on a case. I figured while I was in town, I'd swing by and say Hi to Max and Bart. Somehow, we got on to the subject of Bart not getting sick when all the other kids at school were because of his immune system working at such an accelerated rate. I asked if all of his bodily functions worked at a higher rate and he told me 'yes', and filled me in on all sorts of interesting facts..."

Kyle paused, looking over just as Wally was getting ready to shovel the last bite of cake into his mouth. With a smirk on his lips, Kyle continued. "... like say, exactly how much industrial strength laxative one would need to mix into something like a slice of cake to cause a Speedster to have major gastro-intestinal issues..."

Wally froze, his last forkful of cake hovering just in front of his open mouth. He stared at Kyle, a mixture of shock and anger flashing across his face. "Y-you... didn't..."

As if in reply, a cacophonous gurgle erupted from Wally's stomach - the kind that signifies severe bathroom events on the horizon. Wally's expression changed into one of pure panic for an instant and then with a great "whoosh!" he was gone. 

Clark frowned, turning that parental how-could-you stare at Kyle. Kyle simply smirked as he finished off his own cake. "Hey, I agreed to hold off until after the wedding. The reception is after the wedding, isn't it?"

*****

  


...to be continued...

For more details on the bachelor/ette parties and the wedding of Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson (as well as the identity of the mysterious "other woman" at the reception), read Chris Dee's **CatTales:** **Something Blue** and **Dearly Beloved** available in the FF.N Batman Comic section. Thanks, Chris!


	6. Stunning Revelations

****

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

And so it was that I began my illustrious career as a PR intern... 

In the guise of Julie Meriwether, I had the ability to keep tabs on what was happening in Webster's office. Unfortunately, there was very little I could do in the way of changing what he was doing, other than making suggestions, but at least I could make sure that he wasn't going too far and I could report back to Clark and Diana as to what was happening. 

As expected, Webster seemed to devote the majority of his time and energy to debasing Leon McKinley and his ilk. From Webster's way of thinking, it became less important to push our image and more important to destroy our detractors. I can't say that I subscribe to that point of view, but we had decided to let Webster run things his way and see where the chips fell. Little did the League know that things would progress as far as they did... but I'm getting ahead of myself again. For the time being, I was mainly focused on watching over him from the "insider" perspective. 

As is usually the case in such endeavors, however, other problems began to surface that required my involvement as well. It seems that soon after Dick and Barbara's wedding, things between Dick and Bruce began to sour. It's not like the concept of tension between those two was an entirely new one, but given how close they had become in the time building up to the wedding, this rift seemed to be much greater than those in recent past. 

Whatever the cause, we in the League didn't know what was going on; all we saw were the effects on Batman - in League meetings, League events and in the field. Batman was never one to let his personal problems affect his performance when it truly mattered - when we really needed him, he was there. But in the weeks following the wedding, Batman's definition of what required his involvement began to differ greatly with the rest of the League. The weekly meetings became more of an afterthought for him - he'd show up late and leave early, if he bothered to show at all. Mostly, it just seemed like he couldn't be bothered. Likewise, word began to spread throughout the Superhero Community as a whole that when it came to running any kind of operation in Gotham City, avoidance was the best policy. Batman had once again staked his claim on Gotham being _his_ city and any activity within city limits required his involvement. Truthfully, he was the most intense we'd ever seen him outside of Hell Month. 

I made several trips to Gotham during that time - mostly at the behest of Clark and Diana - in order to check in on Batman... at least, that was the official reason. In truth, I was using these little jaunts to get away for a night or two. After one particular trip involving one of Bruce's remote Bat Caves, a handful of heroes, and a _Sex and the City_ marathon - that unfortunately, I don't remember all that well - I decided to put an end to those visits. Damn that Nabisco Corporation and their "Bold, New Flavor" of Oreos... I think it was the Fudge Mint that finally did me in...

As it turns out, The League's next big mission didn't come from a faraway galaxy or major supervillain attack, or even from people like Leon McKinley, but rather from a strange, disturbing message from Atlantis. Concerned over the lack of visibility of the League as we dealt with this new problem, Webster took it upon himself to call up several of the Reservists - and push the public view of the League into a whole new direction. As I discovered while working for him as Julie, this was just a sample of the lengths that Webster was willing to go to... 

*****

"I don't understand it." Webster tapped his fingers onto the stack of newspapers that sported headlines like: **McKinley Foundation Discloses Full Donor List **and **Foundation List Shows Even Support**. 

"Every time," he continued, a strange calmness to his voice that belied his true frustration. "Every time I come up with an angle, they've got a response within a day that blows the whole thing out of the water. First it was the financials - you would think that with that much money going into the Foundation that someone, somewhere, was skimming a little off the top. And in the middle of our investigation into it, they publicly release a full financial disclosure - showing every last penny going to its intended recipient. Then, no sooner had we started setting up interviews with beneficiaries of the Foundation's charity than they start that ridiculous ad campaign showing 'true testimonials' from all the people they've helped."

The other two occupants of the room - Julie, the intern, and Laura, Webster's executive assistant - watched silently as Webster rambled on, both slightly concerned that their boss's head was going to explode at any moment. Julie was still relatively new, but Laura was sure that in her 6 years of working for Hoyt, she had never seen her boss quite this agitated. It was strangely fascinating to watch as he remained outwardly calm and in control, but the veins in his neck were throbbing so much they looked as though they would suddenly burst, sending his head into a lunar orbit. 

Webster continued, either not noticing the growing concern on his employees' faces or just outright ignoring them. "And it didn't stop there. Every last thing I've tried: the lawyers, the judges, the employee records for the Foundation... even the anti-metahuman lobbyists they're using are all above board. And now _this_!" Webster tipped his hand toward the stack of newspapers. "I finally discover that a large number of Republican National Committee members have been donating to his Foundation - and I'm thinking 'Now that's something I can work with'. I can turn this whole battle into a political fight - elevate it to the national political level where I have more than a little experience. And just as I'm getting ready to go after him and the whole RNC, we get this..."

Webster picked up the Washington Post from the top of the stack and read aloud from the feature article. "... and the newly released Donor's List from the McKinley Foundation reveals not only a large number of corporate and regional donations, but also quite a few large personal donations from some of the most powerful and influential people in Washington. The most interesting fact revealed in the list, however, is that McKinley's Foundation and what it represents appears to inadvertently be the most unilaterally bi-partisan issue to pour through the District in decades. Congressmen and Senators from both sides of the aisle as well as several high ranking members of both the Democratic and Republican National Committees have included the McKinley Foundation in their annual charitable donations..." 

Webster threw the paper back down onto the desk. "I've never seen anything like this. This guy really knows how to cover his tracks."

"W-what if he's not covering anything?" Julie asked timidly, unsure about interrupting Webster at what appeared to be a rather volatile moment. "What if everything about him and this organization really is legitimate?"

Webster stared at the young woman, a hint of incredulity creeping onto his face. "Ms. Meriwether, surely you're not really that naïve. You're young - I understand that - but certainly you know by now that there's nobody in the universe that's _that_ perfect. In fact, when something is this seemingly perfect, that just means there's so much more going on behind the scenes. I just have to find out what... and once I do, I can crush him like a grape..."

The two women traded concerned glances. "Boss?" Laura interrupted, stepping forward. "Are you alright? I don't want to overstep my bounds here, but I've never seen you this... intense about a client before. It's like you're taking this whole thing personally..."

"What? No, It's just..." he paused, chuckling lightly. "Damn you, Damocles." 

Laura and Julie exchanged a "yep-that's-it-the-boss-has-finally-gone-round-the-bend" look. Misreading the look as confusion, Webster explained. "Roman History 101, ladies. Damocles - member of Dionysius' court, makes a comment about how great it must be to be king - Dionysius sits him on the throne with a sword dangling over his head, explaining that this is what being a king feels like... It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop... that overwhelming sense of impending doom..."

"We know what it means, Webster" Laura responded, "and as entertaining as it normally is to listen to you ramble on about ancient Roman history, we're still a little unclear about how all of this pertains to right now..."

Webster sighed lightly. "Something's coming," he replied cryptically. "Something big. I don't know what and I don't know how, but McKinley's got something huge on the horizon, I can feel it." 

"What do you mean, _feel_ it?" Julie asked. 

"Call it... instinct," he answered. "Intuition. A gut feeling. Whatever. I can just tell something's on its way. It's like I can see all of the pieces falling into place but I can't tell what form they're taking. All of the public moves they've made over the last few months - they're setting up for something. The problem is: I have no idea what it is - and if I don't know, I can't prepare for it. Which is unusual for me, because I'm always prepared. Which is why I want to take him down before he has a chance..." 

"Him?" Julie interrupted.

"What?" Webster countered, shaken from his thoughts. 

"You said 'him', not 'them' or 'it'. You mean McKinley."

"Of course I mean McKinley," Webster retorted. "I've spent all this time going after the organization, I think it's time to take a look at the man. He's the key. He's the linchpin. If I can take him out, the whole movement crumbles."

"But, you mean to attack him _personally_?" Julie asked, obvious concern on her face.

Webster replied, unable to hide the condescension in his voice. "Julie, if you really are planning on making a living in the PR field, you're gonna have to learn to check that Pollyanna crap at the door. This is the real world - we play for keeps here. Sometimes that means having to dig a little dirt, sling a little mud, just to get your point across. We're dealing with a level of opposition in the court of public opinion that we haven't seen in decades and the only way to combat that is to point out the inherent fallacies in that opposition. And to do that, we have to take down the leader of that charge - in this case, McKinley. If you can't handle that, then maybe you ought to think about switching majors..."

"Hey, I don't have a Doctorate in Innocence or anything!" Julie responded with surprising verve. "I just wonder if this is really the approach you want to take, especially given who your clients are..."

"Wait, what did you say?" Webster replied with sudden interest. 

"I-I said is that the approach you want to take, given who your clients are. I mean, do you really think the JLA would..."

"No, no," he interrupted again. "Before that."

"What? 'I don't have a Doctorate in Innocence..'? It... It's just an expression. My mother used to say it all the... What? What is it?" 

This last part was in response to the oddly smug and satisfied look crossing Webster's face. He suddenly began rummaging around on his desk, finally locating what it was he was looking for: the personal profile they had amassed on McKinley. Webster began thumbing through the pages, looking for something in particular. He smiled satisfactorily and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the two women standing there bewildered. 

"Answer me this: why would a man who is so against Meta-humans and Superheroes of any kind - a man so vehemently opposed to them that he's dedicated his life to speaking out publicly against them - why would a man like that write his doctoral thesis on the _positive effects _of Superheroes on the world?"

*****

****

Transcript: GBS LivePrimetime  
One man's mission: An interview with Leon McKinley

Phillip Stone: Welcome back to LivePrimetime. We will return you shortly to the rare, in-depth interview with the primary voice in the push for more stringent legislative oversight on the growing Meta-Human population and the man behind the McKinley Foundation: Mr. Leon McKinley. Diane, from the first segment, it looked like Mr. McKinley is more than a simple figurehead...

****

Diane Finn: Thank you, Phil. Yes, you're quite right. From his public debates and speeches, Leon McKinley may seem like a rough, combative politico. In truth, he is actually a very warm, generous and kind-hearted individual. What some may mistake for anger or bravado is actually a heart-felt dedication to his beliefs. Some may not agree with his positions or his ideas, but no one can deny his strength, his convictions or his passion. He truly believes that his cause is just and, as I soon discovered, his reasons are far more personal than simple political drive...

****

CUT TO: Taped Interview.

****

Diane Finn: You actually hold a doctoral degree from Johns Hopkins, do you not?

****

Leon McKinley: Yes. I do.

****

DF: And what is it in?

****

LM: Psychology. Group and Societal Psychology, to be precise. 

****

DF: Your doctoral thesis - what was the title?

****

LM: [Pause. Light smile] The Societal Effects of Superheroes on a Community and the Public At-Large. 

****

DF: In it, you spent a great deal of time espousing the _benefits_ of Superheroes, is that correct?

****

LM: [pause] Yes.

****

DF: In fact, your thesis seems to suggest that you believe that the more Superheroes there are in the world, the better off we all are - that Superheroes are crucial to the cultural and psychological _survival_ of this planet. 

****

LM: It could be taken that way, I suppose. 

****

DF: So what's changed? Why the sudden switch?

****

LM: First of all, Diane, the switch has been anything but sudden. That paper was written many, many years ago. I was much younger then; much more... naïve. Events in my life have forced me to adopt a... different point of view.

****

DF: "Events"? You're talking about the loss of your children?

****

LM: [long pause] Yes. 

****

DF: If you can, please, tell us about it.

****

LM: [pause] It was Spring - 1997. The world was excited over the recent return of the JLA - back with it's original members and more powerful than ever. I guess you could say that I was just as excited as most people, if not more so. Actually, I think the only two who were more excited than me were my two children - my son, Cory, and his older sister, Elizabeth. Their mother and I... well, we were going through a pretty nasty divorce at the time but the Judge had awarded us joint custody. It was my weekend with the kids and I decided to take them with me to Metropolis - I had a conference to attend the following week so I decided to go early and take the kids with me for a little sight-seeing. They were both extremely excited. It was their first visit to Superman's hometown and Cory - he was ten at the time - spent most of the car ride looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Man of Steel racing across the sky. I still remember him like that - his eager young face beaming with joy, a red both towel tied around his neck like a cape... [pauses, eyes watering]

****

DF: Please, go on.

****

LM: [pause, light smile] His sister was highly annoyed with him the whole ride, chiding him about not embarrassing her once we reached Metropolis. She was 13, so of course, _everything_ he did annoyed her. She tried so hard to be flippant about the whole thing, but I could tell she was just as excited as he was... Anyway, we spent most of the weekend taking in the sites of Metropolis - museums, the Metropolis Zoo, Adventureland Amusement Park - you know, all the "touristy" places. Anyway, I had managed to get us a room at the Siegel Hotel just off of Queensland Park. Saturday evening, we had just returned from dinner. The kids were watching TV and I was... in the restroom. There were several very loud explosions, followed by what sounded like shouting. I figured the kids had found some war movie on and, as usual, had turned the TV up too loud. I yelled for them to turn the TV down, but the explosions continued. I... finished my business, then came out of the bathroom and discovered that my kids were not sitting on the beds watching the television, but were instead standing at the window, staring out across the street. I asked them what was going on, but they were completely rapt by whatever it was. I ran to the window to see what had so fully grabbed their attention and froze. There, in the park across the street from our hotel, was not only Superman, but ALL of the JLA battling some strange creatures - which we were later told were "White Martians".

****

LM: The three of us stood there in silent awe, watching these mighty heroes in action - the blast of powerful beams, a blur of red motion, giant green shapes and golden ropes... it was this strange ballet of motion and power. I won't lie to you, it was an impressive sight to behold. We were all so rapt, so completely engrossed by the scene that we didn't even think of how close to danger we all were... until it was too late. 

****

LM: I have thought about what happened next a million times since that day - and the truth is, there's only so much I can remember. [Pause]. I remember standing there, watching the melee out of the window with my arms around my children's shoulders. Then all of a sudden, there was a large mass sailing through the air... right toward our building. At first it just looked like a giant mass of dark blue but as it neared, I recognized it as a cape - the cape of the one they call the Martian Manhunter. Only, it wasn't just the cape, it was him - his body was bent over in the middle and he was hurling backward. He'd been hit - either by a massive punch or some kind of blast - I don't know. There was so much going on in the battle that it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. But what I did know was that his limp body was sailing through the air, not only directly toward the hotel, but unless something changed his direction, he was going to slam right into our window. I was shocked and frightened and panicked and... everything, all at once. My immediate thought was the children, so I gripped their shoulders and pulled them back away from the window. We'd made it all of three steps before the body came crashing through the glass. 

****

LM: After that, everything is pretty much a blur. I remember feeling like I'd been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer - as it turns out, Martian Manhunter's foot or leg caught me in the chest as he sailed past. My body went flying backward through the room, but his maintained its upward trajectory, tearing through the ceiling of our room and smashing up through the floor of the room above us. The Martian's body continued its trajectory, tearing up through the floors at an angle and finally stopping - after going through three quarters of the building and up eight floors. Interviews with other hotel patrons later revealed that he had obviously been unconscious during his flight, but once his body stopped, he came to, disoriented and confused. After gaining his bearings for a second or two, he flew back out through the hole he had created and returned to the fight. I was unaware of any of this... because after getting hit, my body had flown the entire length of the room and I ended up smashed against the door, unconscious. I awoke with paramedics hovering over me. It wasn't until then that I learned what had happened - at some point, either during the Martian's initial crashing into the building or on his hasty exit, the ceilings in the three floors above our room collapsed in on each other, dumping close to two tons of debris into half of our room... [pause] and on top of my stunned children. 

*****

"Unbelievable." Webster stared down at the newspapers on the JLA Conference Table in front of him. Leon McKinley's interview had sent his popularity through the roof. The general public, it seemed, empathized with the man's plight and pitied the loss of his children. In one interview, he'd managed to launch himself into the minds - and more importantly, the hearts - of millions of people around the world. 

"It is disturbing," Diana responded, believing that Webster was expressing similar sentiments to her own. She had been exceptionally moved and distressed over McKinley's heart-wrenching tale, as had many others in the League. All of the active roster Leaguers were assembled in the conference room for the weekly meeting. Except Batman, who hadn't shown up for the third week in a row. Superman stared at Batman's empty seat, then around the table at his fellow Leaguers. It was apparent that they had all seen the McKinley interview - the weight of McKinley's grief seemed to weigh on the room. It wasn't a somber mood exactly, Clark noted. More of a detached professionalism - they were all there to do their jobs and everything else was superfluous at the moment. Wally, Kyle and Eel especially seemed to be purposefully ignoring the topic - mostly just out of respect for J'onn. Superman glanced over at his green friend, who sat as calm and stoic as ever. But Clark knew that behind those eyes, the guilt was just tearing away at him, knowing that he had been the one directly responsible for the McKinley children's deaths...

No one else felt the need to speak aloud on the matter. For most of them, there was really nothing to say that they weren't all already thinking. They all seemed content to just take it for what it was and move on. Well, _almost_ all of them. 

"Perhaps we should consider an apology," Diana offered. "A public showing of our own dismay over his tragedy. An olive branch of sorts..."

"An apology," Webster replied lightly. "No, that's a great idea. That way, when the McKinley camp and every major news outlet in the country is accusing all of you of involuntary manslaughter, they won't have to bother calling us for a comment because you've already apologized and admitted your own guilt." 

"Admitted our own..." Diana sputtered back, staring at Webster incredulously. "Have you no shame, Webster! The man lost his _family_! And you're looking at political downsides?!"

"I agree that what happened is a great tragedy," he responded, "but I would be remiss if I didn't point out that Leon McKinley is _using _that tragedy for his own personal and political gain." He matched Diana's icy stare with a reserved calmness as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his torso. "Seriously, the sooner you people realize I know what I'm doing and listen to what I'm saying, the better off you are all going to be. Otherwise, you're going to know first hand what being on the wrong side of public opinion really feels like."

Diana took a deep, steadying breath. Whether she was trying to calm herself or simply gearing up for a blast of righteousness, the League would never know because before she could respond to Webster, a voice filled the room, coming over the Comm unit speakers. 

"Uh, I hate in interrupt, guys, but we appear to have a visitor." The voice belonged to Ray Palmer, a.k.a. the Atom, who was sitting Monitor Duty. "Incoming teleport."

"Not to worry," Superman called back, shaken momentarily by the interruption. "It's probably just Batman..." Clark fought hard to keep his growing aggravation with Bruce's attendance record as of late out of his voice. He was as affected by the whole ordeal as the rest of them... no use in taking that out on Bruce.

"That's what I thought too," Ray replied over the speakers. "But the source of the teleport isn't Gotham... it's Atlantis."

"Atlantis?" Superman questioned, trading confused looks with several of the other Leaguers in the room. They all turned toward the door to the conference room as it hissed open - but instead of Arthur, they saw a short, rotund man with silver-gray hair, dressed in flowing light blue robes, the ends of his handlebar mustache twittering up and down nervously. 

"Vulko?" Superman greeted in surprise, moving to the doorway to shake the short man's hand and usher him into the room. Most of the other Leaguers had met King Orin's right-hand man before, but Superman politely introduced him around the table anyway, knowing Vulko's propensity for formalities. 

"So what brings you to the Watchtower, Vulko?" J'onn asked after shaking the man's hand. "Don't tell me that Arth... King Orin has decided it's 'beneath him' to come speak with us personally and therefor sent you, his trusted lieutenant to speak on his behalf." J'onn smiled, knowing that Vulko would see the comment as a joke and not as a sign of any real disdain. Vulko did understand the Martian's comment, but could only manage a weak smile over the obvious concern etched on his face. 

"B-begging your pardon," Vulko stumbled, barely containing his unease. "I appear to have interrupted your meeting. If you prefer, I can wait outside until you are through..."

"Nonsense," Superman replied, laying a steadying hand on the man's shoulder. "What is the problem, Vulko? Is Arthur okay?"

"Oh, were it so that we knew, sir." Vulko gushed. "The fact is, King Orin... i-is _missing_!"

*****

Vulko explained the situation to the assembled Leaguers. Two weeks prior, King Orin had announced to Vulko and his court that he was taking a short sabbatical - a vacation of sorts. At the time, no one thought too much of it; fact was, the King had taken such leaves before. The affairs of the Kingdom rarely allowed him too much time away, so in those rare instances, he had been known to take a few days off to wander through the kingdom and, as he put it: reconnect with the inhabitants. However, in the past it was never more than a few days, or if it was, he would send notice via some undersea creature that he was going to be away longer. But this time, no such word came. After a week with no contact with their leader, the royal court became concerned and sent Vulko out to contact the other denizens of the deep to discreetly inquire about King Orin's location. After a week of almost continual searching, the King was still no where to be found and poor Vulko was at the end of his rope. He had come up to the Justice League base in the hope that King Orin had decided to take his vacation in the relative seclusion of the Watchtower's lagoon. 

Upon confirmation that Arthur was indeed not on the Watchtower and that none of Leaguers had been in contact with him over the last few weeks, Vulko became distraught. Superman and J'onn did what they could to allay the poor man's fears as they all went down to the monitor womb and the Watchtower's central computers. They attempted to contact Arthur's JLA Communicator, only to discover that he had left it in his bedchambers back in Atlantis. Using the Watchtower's scanning systems and linking up with Oracle and the BatComputer, they tried a preliminary surface scan of the planet. When the scans came back with nothing, Ray explained that a more thorough search was possible but it would take days, if not weeks, to complete. Superman instructed him to go ahead and begin the thorough scans as they went through other options. 

J'onn attempted to contact Aquaman telepathically but got no response. They tried everything they could think of, including looking through the Watchtower Teleport logs to see if he had used them to go anywhere. An hour later, they were no closer to finding him, so they reconvened in the conference room to go over their options. Considering who Arthur was, they quickly discovered that a personal search would be unlike anything they had ever undertaken - they weren't just restricted to landmasses, as he could be anywhere in the millions of miles of uncharted ocean covering the planet as well. 

Impossible task or not, their friend was missing - they quickly formed a search plan. Given their speed, Superman and Flash could cover the continents and landmasses the fastest. Green Lantern, Wonder Woman and Plastic Man could begin searching the oceans' depths, Kyle's ring, Diana's body and Eel's malleability granting each of them the ability to withstand the pressures of the deep. Vulko offered the services of a handful of Atlantian soldiers to assist in the underwater search, but any more than that, he explained, might raise too much suspicion in Atlantis. 

It was decided that J'onn would stay behind on the Watchtower with Atom to continue the searches, electronic and telepathic, and to act as a sort of "mission control" for the search. Atom put the JSA on alert, filling them in on the situation and asking them to keep an eye open for trouble while the League was away. The Leaguers set up search routes and check-in time tables, then separated to prepare for the search - calling friends and family to explain that they would be gone for a while, setting up and testing their underwater breathing gear, etc. 

Once it was down to just J'onn and Superman, Webster - who had been watching events unfold with a reserved awe - walked up to Superman, who was taking a final glance over the search routes on a holographic map floating just above the conference table. 

"So, how long do you think this will take?" Webster asked quietly. 

"As long as it takes," the Man of Steel replied cryptically. "Why do you ask?"

"Ballpark it for me. Are we talking a few hours? A day? What?" 

Superman stared at the man for a moment, then returned his attention to the map. "Webster, we're going to be searching the entire planet for one person. It could take weeks..."

"Weeks?" Webster paused, quietly contemplating how to approach this conversation. "I've got to tell you, this isn't going to look good."

"What do you mean?"

"You most vocal opponent just gave an interview where he announced that you all were responsible for the death of his children and you guys are going to disappear, possibly for several weeks. It's going to look like you're hiding."

"Webster..." Superman returned his attention to the press agent. He looked as though he had been about to give Webster a curt response, then paused, honestly considering what Webster had said. "Honestly, right now I couldn't care less about public opinion. Our friend is missing and we're going to go find him. If the public can't understand and respect that..." 

He let the statement go unfinished. Webster simply nodded. "I understand. I just wanted to make you aware..."

"Duly noted," Superman replied, shutting off the holographic projector and turning toward the door. 

"What should I tell the press?" Webster asked, stopping Superman in his tracks. "They're already asking about your response to the McKinley interview, so what do I tell them now?"

Superman paused again. He knew all too well how the press were going to handle it - he knew how _he'd_ handle it... "Tell them the truth," he answered finally. "Tell them our friend is missing and finding him is our priority right now." 

Webster nodded and Superman left. Webster turned to J'onn, the only other one left in the room. "What if something happens while they're gone? What if there's some big invasion or some monster ransacking the Midwest while they're out looking for Aquaman? Is everyone just supposed to accept that finding Aquaman takes precedence over the safety of the world?"

Normally, J'onn might be annoyed at the phrasing of the question, but he knew what Webster was up to - he was phrasing the question exactly the same way the press would. 

"Of course not, Webster. If something that huge comes up, we can call them back. Plus, we've got the JSA, the Titans, Young Justice, and any number of other heroes we can call on. Not to mention, we have the League reservists." J'onn headed out the door as well, heading back down to the monitor womb. 

Webster considered the answer for a long while. He slowly started to nod to himself, then headed over to one of the computer terminals in the conference room. Steel had setup the terminals' interface to be pretty user-friendly and Webster, being somewhat computer savvy, was able to find was he was looking for in a matter of minutes...

The JLA Reserves List.

*****

Paul Booker, former small-time criminal turned Superhero Major Disaster, sat in his dingy apartment, fascinated with the newspaper in front of him. According to the article, Aquaman, long thought dead, was actually alive, but trapped 3000 years in the past in ancient Atlantis. The rest of the Justice League, it turned out, traveled back in time in order to rescue him and bring him back. The article, light on factual information but heavy on opinion, suggested a sort of arrogance on the part of the League - stating that they obviously cared more about themselves than the care and safety of the world. 

Booker laughed out loud, his raucous voice booming through the sparsely furnished apartment. Stupid press - they act all high and mighty about it, but what if it was one of their fellow reporters that was missing? There'd be a call to action and a thousand crying interviews about how great the missing snoop was... whining friggin' maggots...

"Besides," he grumbled aloud to the wall, "what about the rest of us 'Hero-types', huh? What, you think the Justice League is the only game in town? Yeah well, fuck you very much too." 

No sooner had the word "too" come out of his mouth than an ember from the cigar he was smoking popped off the end and dropped onto the newspaper, immediately setting it ablaze. In one-point-two seconds, he had nothing but a small pile of ash on his lap and one un-charred strip of paper between his fingers. He stared down at the ash pile on his lap.

"Friggin' chaos powers," he mumbled. "Gotta watch getting angry around flammables..." 

He stood up, brushing the ashes off his lap, then trundled off toward the small kitchen area to get a fresh beer out of the fridge. He pulled out a bottle, popped it open with his teeth and took a swig, his mind still focussing on the newspaper article and his own "brush with Justice League greatness"... which only made him laugh again. Goddamn Max Lord and his Justice League Antarctica...

It wasn't until that moment that he realized that the beeping he had thought was a delivery truck backing up to the warehouse next door was actually coming from his bedroom. He set the beer down on the kitchen counter and stumbled into the bedroom, trying to locate where the noise was coming from. After a few minutes of tossing clothes and knocking over old empty beer bottles, he finally centered in on his closet. He swung open the door, only to get buried in the cascade of clothing and debris that tumbled out. Another minute of digging later, he stood with a small beeping metallic device in one hand and an old bowling trophy in the other. He cocked his head sideways and stared down at the beeping device in confusion, like a dog after the furniture's been rearranged. He depressed the small button, causing the beeping to stop and he rolled the small device over and over in his hand, trying to wrap his brain around what it actually meant...

The JLA was calling him up for active duty.

*****

::Watchtower, this is Superman. Checking in.::

::This is Atom. We read you loud and clear, Superman. How's it going out there?::

::Slowly but surely. I've just finished over Europe and I'm heading on toward the Middle East. Flash has covered most of South America and should be heading toward Panama now.::

Ray checked the map on one of the Monitor Womb screens and updated the surface search team's progress. It was going slowly - slower than they had originally anticipated. It had been 4 days since the start of the search and the surface crew had only covered half the planet's landmasses. Thankfully, Hawkman and Captain Marvel had offered to run a search pattern over North America, allowing Superman and Flash to concentrate on the rest of the world. 

::Be careful out there, Superman. That area isn't really well known for its love of blue and red streaks across the sky...::

::I will, Atom. How are things going up there?::

::About as slowly, I'm afraid. We're being as thorough as possible with the surface scans, but there's a lot of bodies to filter through to find just one...::

::Like a needle in a haystack.::

::Actually, it's more like finding one particular needle in a stack of 2 billion needles.::

::And the telepathic scans?::

::About the same:: came the reply, only it wasn't Atom that replied, but J'onn, who had just entered the Monitor Womb in time to hear Superman's question. ::Hey Superman, it's J'onn.:: 

::Hey J'onn. Still nothing?::

::I'm afraid so. I don't know what's going on - I've tried several times to reach him, but I get no response.::

::And how are the others doing?::

The underwater teams weren't fairing much better. The "handful" of soldiers Vulko had promised turned out to be six men - all fast swimmers and loyal to the throne, so their help was greatly appreciated, but only six extra bodies meant a lot more work than they were expecting. 

::They're coming along as well.:: Atom responded ::They split into three teams - one Leaguer with two Atlantians. They started together in the Atlantic then Wonder Woman and her team went north, planning to circumvent the Arctic Circle. Green Lantern and his team went south and west to head around the Cape of Good Hope and into the Indian Ocean. And Plastic Man and his team went south and east to loop around South America and into the Pacific. At least, those are the plans. Fact is, none of them have even made it out of the Atlantic yet. I don't think any of us really realized just how big Arthur's "kingdom" really is...::

J'onn muted the Comm unit for a moment to confer with Atom. After the brief discussion, Ray nodded, then climbed out of the Monitor Womb chair and headed out the door. Once he was gone, J'onn returned to the Comm unit.

::It's just me now, Clark. Ray had to go to a meeting.::

::A meeting? For what?::

::Well, that's something else we'll need to discuss when you guys get back. It seems that Webster took it upon himself to call up a handful of Reservists for a meeting this afternoon...::

::What?! Whatever for?::

::I don't know yet. All I know for sure is that he handpicked a group of Reservists and called them up here. He came in a while ago and asked Ray to come be a part of it...::

::Ray? But not you?::

::Yeah. He said he figured it was more important that I be involved with the search and that this was all nothing major...::

::I beg to differ...::

::As do I. Listen, don't worry about it. I'll handle things up here, you just find Arthur. Once this is all over, we'll have a nice long sit-down with Webster and discuss his true job description.::

::Count on it. So did you tell Ray to fill you in on what happens at the meeting?:: 

::No, I was thinking of a more direct approach.::

::Oh? How so?::

::You know me, Clark. I'm a being of many... resources.:: 

*****

Major Disaster wondered what precise sequence of events had transpired that brought him here. First of all, he was seated in what had to be the most amazing chair his butt had ever been in - it's like the padding simply molded to his shape and cradled him softly in a perfectly upright position. Secondly, this chair was one of eight that surrounded the JLA Conference table... in the JLA Watchtower... on the moon! Nextly, he was staring around the table at what he considered to be one of the strangest collection of Superheroes ever assembled. 

Most of them he knew by name or reputation, though many he had never actually met in person. Seated right next to him was Firestorm, a young but powerful hero in a yellow and orange suit - whose powers, if Disaster remembered correctly, had something to do with rearranging matter on the molecular level. Next to Firestorm was Hawkgirl - which was a bit of a misnomer because from where Disaster sat, she was _all_ woman. Next around the table was someone Disaster didn't know but he was wearing what appeared to be a Green Lantern outfit - though Disaster couldn't ever remember there being a black GL. Next to him was another green hero, and the one that had Disaster the closest to "star struck" he'd ever been in his life - Green Arrow. _The_ Green Arrow - the original, not the teenage replacement. This guy was Old School cool - one of the founding members of the JLA and, if the infamous Superhero grapevine was to be believed, one of the best in the business. And from the way Arrow kept eyeing Hawkgirl, several of the other things the grapevine had said about him were true as well. 

Next to Green Arrow was the one hero Disaster was the most surprised to see sitting at the JLA conference table (aside from himself, that is) - Nightwing, former Boy Wonder and partner of the Batman, founding member of the Teen Titans and now an amazing hero in his own right. It's not that Disaster felt Nightwing didn't _belong _there, but rather he was surprised that Nightwing would have anything to do with the Justice League. It was fairly well known that Nightwing normally tried to keep a pretty safe distance between himself and anything with DaddyBat's fingerprints on it, so 'Wing's involvement with the League seemed a little strange. Maybe things weren't quite so bad between the two as originally thought. 

On the top of the conference table, next to Nightwing, was a miniature version of the same kind of chair they were all sitting in. It was currently empty, but Disaster assumed that one was reserved for The Atom, another long-time hero and one of the smartest guys alive. There were two chairs still empty - one between Hawkgirl and Black GL-Guy and one between himself and Atom's miniscule chair. He glanced around another time, noticing that many of the other attendees seemed to have the same confusion about this gaggle of heroes. 

Before anyone could put voice to their concerns, the door to the conference room hissed open and a man in a well-pressed, three piece suit walked in, a six inch Atom on his shoulder. The pair reached the table and Atom leaped down, taking a seat in his chair on the table. The well-dressed man stood behind the vacant chair next to Atom and looked around the table, smiling wide. 

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," the man greeted, obviously the one who had called them up there in the first place - which Disaster found odd considering he'd never seen this guy before. 

"Some of you may already know me," the man continued, "but most of you probably don't. My name is Webster Hoyt and I am the Justice League's Press Agent and Public Liaison." 

The assembled Reservists traded glances back and forth across the table. Green Arrow stifled a chuckle. 

"I'm sure you've all seen the paper," Webster continued, undaunted. "You know that the Justice League is currently... indisposed. As I'm sure you're also aware - some of you, _painfully_ so -that public opinion of you cape-and-spandex types has been abysmal of late and that is why the League has hired me. I'm here to make them - and you - look better. To that end, I called you all up here today..."

"_You _called us up here?" Nightwing asked. When Webster replied in the affirmative, Nightwing stood up. "Right. Do me a favor: next time, don't call me up here unless there's a global crisis that requires actual League involvement."

As Nightwing started to move toward the door, Green Arrow muttered under his breath. "Damn, getting more like Daddy every day..."

Atom shot Green Arrow a disgusted look, then called after the leaving hero. "Nightwing! Please, come sit down and at least hear what Webster has to say. Both J'onn and I approved this meeting and I think there's a few things here you need to be aware of." 

Nightwing and Atom exchanged stares for a moment, then Nightwing finally relented and returned to his seat. 

Webster continued. "I realize this is a bit atypical for most of you, but when I'm through, I think most of you will realize the importance of this meeting. As of this moment, you are the official roster of Reservists that will be called up in the event of an emergency that requires League involvement. So, we wanted to bring the seven of you up here to try and create a little more cohesion in the unit..." He stopped, noticing that the flame-haired hero had his hand in the air. "Fire... star, is it?" 

"Storm, sir," Firestorm corrected. "Fire_storm_."

"Yes, okay. Fire_storm_, then." Webster corrected. "Firestorm, this isn't Mrs. Tingle's third grade classroom. You don't need to raise you hand. If you have something to ask, just ask it."

"Oh," Firestorm replied meekly, as he hesitantly brought his arm down. "Okay."

"Well?" Webster prompted when Firestorm didn't continue. 

"Well, what?" the fiery hero asked, confused. 

"Well, what was your question?" Webster asked slowly, exasperation creeping into his voice. 

"Oh! Right! Um... well, it's just that... there's only six of us..." Firestorm glanced around the table, counting again to make sure. "Y-you said you brought the seven of us up here a-and there's only six of us... unless you're including yourself in that seven, which is fine I suppose, except that you said 'seven of _you_' not 'seven of _us_', and the League is usually comprised of Superheroes and you don't seem to have any powers or metahuman abilities..."

"Easy, 'Storm," Disaster interrupted the rambling hero quietly. "You're about to pop your headband..."

Ignoring the rambling Firestorm, Webster leaned down and conferred with Atom for a moment and then stood back up and addressed the rest of the table. "I'm sorry, I thought everyone had made it. There will be a seventh joining us shortly, Firestorm. Anyway, as I was saying, we wanted to bring you all up here to create a little more cohesion in the unit - so that should the need arise for the League to make an appearance, you are at least familiar with one another and you know what to expect. In order to try and curb a lot of the 'Substitute Teacher' sentiment that seems to arise whenever the Reservists are called up, I will refrain from referring to you as the 'Replacement' or 'Substitute' League and I would strongly urge the rest of you to do the same. As far as I see it, _you_ are now the Justice League and you will be until such time as the others return from their mission. The seven of you... put your hand down Firestorm... the seven of you were handpicked for your particular abilities and strengths. Each of you brings your own aspect and style to the group that, I think, will make you one of the strongest Leagues ever assembled. Sure, they may be a few teething problems, but that's to be expected. Part of the reason for this meeting today is to try and get past those problems and try to solidify you all as a group. I also wanted to address with you a few policies we now have for the League as far as follow-up press conferences and announcements to the public."

Oliver suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, I get it now. We were all picked for our particular 'abilities' - wink wink, nudge nudge."

Webster looked at Green Arrow, annoyed at being interrupted again. "What do you mean?"

"Check this guy out," Oliver joked, jerking a thumb in Webster's direction and looking around the table. "We weren't picked for our _individual_ abilities, we were all picked for the _same_ ability - we can all look good in front of a camera."

"Mr. Arrow, each of you met certain criteria..." Webster began. 

"Yeah," Ollie interrupted. "We're _photogenic_. Seriously, look around the table, folks. We're the perfect little PC, multicultural melting-pot - just about every base is covered." Ollie went around the table, pointing to each of the seated Reservists in turn, starting with Nightwing, "We've got the Hunky Studmuffin, the Super-Brain, the Reformed Criminal, the Young & Flashy One, the Hot Girl, and the Black Guy. It's our own little Diversity Super Group."

Offended by being referred to as 'The Hot Girl', Hawkgirl retorted. "So what's that make _you_, Arrow? The Token Asshole?" 

"Actually, I was thinking 'Grumpy Old Fart', but you say 'toe-may-toe'..." Ollie replied with a smirk. "Now all we need is a Native American and we've got..."

"Hey! I'm quarter Cherokee!" Disaster blurted, then glanced around at all the stares he was getting from the rest of the table. "What?!" 

"Hey, that's perfect, Kiddo. Now we're all set!" Ollie continued. "What I don't get... and this is one of those things that's bugged me for years... if we're supposed to represent the culture and make-up of this planet - whose total population is 54% female - why are we always so lacking in the Double-X chromosome department? I mean, it's not like there aren't strong female heroes out there - so why do these Super Teams always include just _one_ filly..."

"What does that make me? Chopped Liver?" 

They all turned to see a beautiful, young, dark-haired woman leaning back against the wall next to the doorway, wearing a strange purple and white bodysuit that left little to the imagination. Ollie whistled low, then muttered to himself.

"I should say not... because you couldn't pay me enough to eat chopped liver, but I'd certainly... Whoa! Wouldja look at that! JuniorBat learned how to make that scowly face, just like Daddy's!"

"Ah, wonderful!" Webster called, trying to steer the attention away from the stare-down and back to the new arrival. "You must be our seventh member. The one that Martian Manhunter recommended..." 

"Faith," the young woman introduced herself as she sashayed across the room and took a seat in the empty chair between Hawkgirl and Green Lantern. The others traded glances, silently confirming with one another that none of them had ever seen or heard of this strange new arrival. 

Sensing the reservations, Webster intervened to try and allay the rest of the League's fears. "Welcome, Faith. You come _highly_ recommended..."

Like the rest of the table, Atom eyed her suspiciously... but when Faith's gaze met his, they stared at each other for the briefest of moments and Atom's face suddenly lightened. "Ah! Yes. Faith. Thank you for coming. Both J'o... Martian Manhunter and I can vouch for this young lady. Quite talented - mostly magic-based powers if I remember correctly." Faith nodded. 

The others began to warm to the new arrival when they realized that not only Atom, but J'onn - long considered to be the soul of the League itself - had hand selected her for inclusion. Greetings and introductions followed, with Major Disaster making a mental note that the Black GL-Guy did, in fact, refer to himself as Green Lantern. After the introductions, Atom spoke up again.

"Welcome aboard. I think you'll make a wonderful addition to our little gang here. As I've always said: every super group like this one could use a little _Faith_..."

The table collectively groaned and Faith hit Atom with the frank stare of someone who's heard every religion-name pun in her lifetime. 

"Well, she's certainly making a believer out of me..." Ollie muttered.

"That's enough, Arrow." Nightwing growled. 

"Listen, _Junior_. I've been nose to nose with your old man more times than you've got years. What on Earth makes you believe that _you_ can actually intimidate me?" 

"Because unlike Batman," 'Wing responded viciously, "I have absolutely no qualms about punching that twinkle out of your eye." 

Ollie smirked. "You may have the sack, Kiddo, but do you have the skills?" 

Atom finally intervened. "Knock it off, you two..." 

As the argument worked its way around the table, bringing in more and more participants, Webster began to consider if things could get any worse. His answer came in the form of a hand, sticking meekly up into the air. 

"What is it, Firestorm?" 

"Shouldn't we have a name?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"A name. Shouldn't we have our own name... y'know like a code name or something. I mean, I know you said you wanted us to think of ourselves as _The_ Justice League and all, but if we're calling ourselves the Justice League and the _real_ Justice League comes back, isn't that just going to cause all kinds of confusion and strangeness and stuff? I mean, if they come back and they're the Justice League and we're the Justice League, then who really is the Justice League..."

Firestorm continued to ramble as Webster began slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose and wondering exactly when he had so completely lost control of the meeting...

*****

"The what?!" Wally asked, barely able to contain his chuckling. 

Rather than answer, Superman merely shot him a non-committal look, preferring to avoid a whole conversation about Webster's new replacement league. Truth was, Clark was more than a little miffed at Webster's presumption, but leave it up to Wally to find the humor in the situation.

"The 'Obsidian League'?!" Wally chortled. "What, the 'Black League' sounded too ethnic?" 

"Wally!" Superman chided. 

"Shhh!" The curt shushing came from in front of them, where Zatanna and Tempest were concentrating on their incantations. They were all standing on a remote bit of shoreline on the Washington State coast - private property owned by one Oliver Queen. Tempest had contacted the Watchtower about a possible divination spell he and Zatanna were working on. Superman and Wally had finished up all they could searching dry land and were preparing to head underwater to join the others, so they decided to stop by and see if Zatanna and Garth had come up with anything. 

What they had come up with was a giant ball of floating water, which neither Wally nor Clark could determine the precise meaning of. As they watched, however, Tempest shifted his hands and the ball started slowly revolving, small ripples appearing as it spun. The ripples grew and, to the Leaguer's amazement, began to form the rough outline of landmasses - specifically the Earth's continents. 

"Good, good," Zatanna urged, then held her own hands up to help stabilize the ball. She muttered a few words under her breath and the ball grew bigger, faint details in the landscape becoming clearer. 

"You ready?" Zatanna asked Tempest quietly and he nodded a quick response, afraid to lose concentration. Zatanna looked back over her shoulder to Superman and Flash who were watching intently now. The ball had grown to about 60 feet in diameter and both Superman and Flash were surprised at the growing size and amount water Tempest was siphoning out of the sea to create this monstrosity. "Hey fellas? I know it's getting big, but it needs to be large in order to get clear enough detail to pinpoint a location. But we're gonna need you to watch here. We're going to be so busy keeping the spell going that we might miss it."

"What are we looking for?" Superman asked.

"It should look like a glowing yellow light inside the ball of water somewhere," Zatanna responded, turning her attention back to the still growing ball. By the time they finished, both Zatanna and Tempest were showing signs of physical struggle as the ball reached 100 feet in diameter. Superman and Flash were both studying the ball intently... so intently that Batman's voice in their ears jolted them. 

::Superman, this is Batman. I found him.::

Superman tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing ball and clicked his Comm unit on. 

::Say again, Batman::

::I found him. I'm on my way there now. I'll lead you to him.:: 

::**_You found him?!?_**::

It was an expression of surprise and delight. It was an exclamation of relief and awe. It was a week and half of frustration and bleakness bordering on desperation released in a single instant of jubilation. It was phrase of joy, a phrase of excitement, a phrase of pure exaltation.

It was a phrase, unfortunately for all of those involved, that was uttered a bit too loud. 

In his exuberance, Superman had grabbed Flash's shoulder. Flash - who had just begun to see a faint yellowish glow appear inside the ball and was completely focused on it - yelped in surprise. 

Tempest, upon hearing the shout - a shout that portended the possibility that his mentor had finally been located - turned in surprise to confirm what he had heard. This unfortunately, left Zatanna, quite literally, holding the ball. She had just enough time to scream to Tempest's name before she felt the magic giving way. 

At the time it exploded, the ball was roughly 100 feet in diameter and contained approximately 524,000 cubic feet of water - close to 4 _million_ gallons. At least half of that volume exploded straight down onto the four heroes on the beach. Thankfully, Tempest was able to dive into the relative safety of the sea, while Superman and Flash made sure to get Zatanna clear of the brunt of the blast. The other half of that water exploded upward... directly into the path of the Batwing as it flew in at treetop level. 

With deft precision, extreme concentration and more than a little luck, Batman was able to successfully pilot the small plane away from the main geyser, but had to fight to keep the plane aloft as it was pelted from all sides by flying water. He finally managed to stabilize the aircraft and make a wide arcing turn back toward the shoreline, giving the column of rising water enough time to reach the peak of its ascent and then crash back down to the surface. As he neared the shoreline to meet up with Superman and Flash, he muttered three little words to himself. 

"I hate magic..." 

*****

The Hunter crouched low on the small outcropping sticking out amongst the trees. With eyes like a hawk, he tracked the slow, methodical movement of his prey - a large anaconda sliding through the grass on its way back to its den. He hunted not for sport, but for food and a snake this size - close to 6 feet long - would feed him for several days. It was not his food of choice, but when the options are limited, one learns to make adjustments. 

He watched the snake slithering casually around a tree trunk, blithely oblivious to its impending doom and couldn't help the small smile crossing his lips. The Hunter straightened up slightly, raising his weapon and taking aim. This was it: the moment of truth - that moment that most hunters know about but rarely speak of - that instant just before striking when it all comes together, Hunter and Prey locked as one, caught in their inevitable dance. It was at that moment that, while he didn't necessarily agree with it, The Hunter certainly understood the thrill and exhilaration of hunting for sport. 

And it was at that moment that the large, black shadow screamed overhead, rustling the trees and shaking the ground with the power of its jet engines. The snake panicked, turned directly toward its home and slithered away quickly. The Hunter muttered curses under his breath, realizing the moment was gone and that he had to act quickly if he still wanted to claim his prize. He tracked the now speeding snake with his weapon, aiming true, and fired. The golden projectile streaked through the trees heading toward its rapidly escaping target... then was suddenly and unceremoniously deflected by a big red and yellow "S" that landed in its path. 

Arthur stood, cursed again and retracted the harpoon back into his arm as a confused Superman walked toward the small rock outcropping. Arthur jumped down to meet him. 

"You just lost me my dinner, Clark." 

It was a strange greeting, to be sure, and one that hadn't even been considered on Clark's top list of greetings he expected in this situation. The man in front of him certainly _looked_ like Arthur, though his hair and beard were a bit dirtier and scragglier and his skin tone was a bit darker. Clark might not have recognized him, but that golden harpoon on his left forearm was a dead giveaway. "Arthur?"

"Clark." Arthur grinned lightly, then walked off through the woods. Superman stood there for a moment, surprised and more than a little perplexed - Arthur hadn't looked like a man in trouble or a man distressed; in fact, he looked completely relaxed and in his element. Finally shaking out of his daze and realizing that he was being left behind, Superman turned and followed after his colleague. 

He walked out of the woods and onto a beautiful white sand beach, crystal blue water stretching all the way to the horizon. On the beach was what looked like a campsite - a small thatched lean-to, too small for a man but covering what appeared to be small bags of woven palm fronds, a makeshift bench made of driftwood sitting beside a small campfire and hundreds of footprints all over the beach. Above the campfire, a vine-bound tripod held a small dangling iron pot that produced a small amount of rising steam. To the casual observer, it looked like the kind of setup one would expect to see in a deserted island movie - which would make some sense except for the fact that in this case the apparently "stranded" person was Aquaman! 

Arthur stood on the shore, facing the water with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched, taking in a huge breath of air. He exhaled loudly, then strolled casually over to the pot, using a small wooden spoon to stir its contents. He bent low and sniffed the pot, smiling wide. 

"Kelp?" Arthur offered as he ladled out a steaming pile of greenish leaves and stems and gestured in Superman's direction.

An odd moment passed between the two as Superman stood completely dumbfounded and Arthur squatted casually beside the fire, holding a spoonful of steaming kelp, both men staring at each other. Superman finally shook his head slightly, as if shaking from a dream-state and finally responded. 

"What? No. No, thank you, I... Arthur... What...? Where are we!?"

"Well, I don't know what you Surface Dwellers call it, but down in Atlantis, we'd call this an island, Clark," Arthur replied casually, lifting the spoon to his own mouth and slurping down some of the kelp. 

"I know it's an island, Arthur. What are we doing here?" Clark asked, exasperated. 

Arthur dropped the spoon back into the pot and stood, brushing off his hands. "You see, this is just one of thousands of 'uncharted' islands in what you call the southern Pacific Ocean. You call it 'uncharted' because even with all of your advanced technology and satellite tracking and such, there are still places like this on the planet that none of your kind has ever even seen before. Now, since no one has seen them and therefore no one has any kind of 'claim' on them... which, quite frankly, is a completely different and ludicrous conversation for another time... and they are all completely surrounded by _my_ Kingdom, I figured it was only fair for me to exercise that same right that so many of your kind has used in the past and simply claimed them as my own. They make a pleasant and quite relaxing vacation spot and as I do not get the opportunity to take vacations very often, when the opportunity arises, I tend to come to one of my so-called 'uncharted' islands and take a break."

Arthur strolled up to Superman, a wide, peaceful smile still on his face. "So that's what _I'm_ doing here, Clark. I'm on vacation. So I guess the real question is: what are _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for you," came the reply... only it wasn't Superman who answered, but Flash, who suddenly appeared at the end of a small line of footprints that followed the shoreline. He paused and blinked a few times, having to double-check that the man he was looking at was actually who he thought. "Arthur?"

Arthur flashed a welcoming smile to the new visitor. "Wally."

Wally shot a quick confused glance at Superman, hoping to get some kind of explanation. Superman merely shrugged.

"So... uh... what's goin' on?" Wally asked Arthur, realizing that Clark was just as confused as he was. 

"Well, as I was telling Big Blue here," Arthur said with a wink, "_I'm _on vacation and as you just said, you guys are here looking for me... so let's see if I can noodle this one out. I go on vacation, as is my wont to do, and after a while Vulko, hapless worry-wart that he is, starts freaking out that he hasn't seen me or heard from me and calls you guys. You, predictably, try everything at your disposal to contact or locate me, to no avail. Then, when none of your scans or searches turn up anything - because I'm on one of those pesky 'uncharted islands' that doesn't register on your searches - you split into teams and start searching every inch the planet by hand. Now, considering the large, black monstrosity that went screaming over my island just a few seconds before Supes here showed up and ruined my chance at a nice snake dinner, I think it's safe to assume that Batman was the one to finally locate me - probably because he's smart enough to include those areas on the planet that are littered with little islands just like this one in his scans. Batman then contacts you and leads you here, where you search the island and promptly find me. Which brings us to the present. So, I guess the only thing left for you to do is get on your communicator and tell the rest of the team that I'm here..."

"Already done," came the surprisingly un-growly reply from the edge of the woods. They all turned to see the most recent arrival walk out from the tree-line and onto the beach. 

"Impeccable timing as always," Arthur greeted with a smile, holding out his hand. "Bruce."

"Arthur," Batman replied, shaking the proffered hand. 

"Say," Arthur chided Bruce playfully, "isn't this against the rules of nature or something? I mean you, out here in direct sunlight? Won't you turn to dust or something?" 

Wally cringed slightly to himself, certain that Batman was about to pummel the crap out of Arthur. Superman, however, noticed that strange twitching-thing at the corner of Bruce's mouth again. 

"Aren't you supposed to be underwater. Or something?" came the Dark Knight's reply. 

Wide-eyed, Wally leaned over toward Superman and whispered, "D-did Batman just make... a joke?!?" 

Superman shot a grinning sideways glance at Wally. "Yes." 

"This is it," Wally announced quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. "This is definitely it. It's official. This has officially become, without a doubt, the most surreal experience of my entire life..."

*****

...to be concluded...


	7. Finale

****

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

Then, as the saying goes, the shit hit the fan...

*****

****

Washington Times  
McKinley Leaves Foundation, Starts New Group  
_BY: Staff Writer Mike Cotton_

When Leon McKinley, founder and president of the Foundation that bears his name, announced last week that he would be resigning his position at the helm of that Foundation in order to pursue "more personal goals", pundits around town started calling it a political maneuver. General consensus was that McKinley, well known as an advocate for "Metahuman Reform" and the loudest voice in the current anti-Superhero movement, was purposefully separating himself - and more importantly, his ideas - from the charitable Foundation that focuses on aiding victims of Metahuman crimes and accidents. Further support of this idea came the next day when the McKinley Foundation's new President and CEO, former executive Vice President Sandra Mintner, announced that the Foundation would be focussing its efforts on providing medical, legal and financial assistance to those affected by the activities of Metahumans but it would be dropping its Congressional lobbying division. 

McKinley, it seemed, was gearing up for a major shift in his political activities, as indicated by his rather public move into an office located in the District. Many Washington insiders commented over the last week that they were waiting for McKinley's newest bomb to drop. And drop it did. Monday evening, in a press conference held on the steps of his office building just two short blocks from Capitol Hill, McKinley announced the creation of a new organization - People Against Costumed Entities or P.A.C.E., for short. According to McKinley, this new organization, that he repeatedly referred to as a "Community Action Group", will focus on more "long-term and lasting solutions to the Metahuman problems that are plaguing this country." Several times, he called for "normal, everyday Americans" to "stand up against the oppression and subjugation of the world by these so-called Heroes." 

Members from the Justice League, Justice Society, and Titans were unavailable for comment...

*****

"You guys talked to him. You tell me - is Aquaman up for a return to active duty?" Webster asked the duo.

Superman and Flash traded glances for a moment. "Well, we did talk about it briefly," Superman finally responded. "He did indicate that returning was a possibility, though full active duty right now might not be what he's looking for..."

Flash nodded his agreement. Neither of them wanted to admit to Webster that Arthur's _exact_ words were: "If that PR ass is gone, then sure. Why not?" Superman knew that with a little finesse, he and J'onn could probably convince Arthur to return even with Webster still on board, but Arthur would no doubt want a few assurances that they had tighter reins on Webster this time around. The last thing any of them needed was a return to the back-and-forth bickering between Arthur and Webster. 

"Well, if he's planning a comeback, we ought to get together with him and discuss the public announcements," Webster beamed, delighted that there was a possibility that he could come up with a story to dwarf all of the McKinley/P.A.C.E. nonsense. And the return of someone of Aquaman's caliber would be perfect. "Plus, we'll want to discuss the image changes..."

Superman noted - and not for the first time - Webster's continual use of the pronouns "we" and "us" when discussing League matters, a fact that would need to be addressed soon. But apparently, it would have to wait until after this new wrinkle. "Image changes?" 

"It's no secret that every time one of you people comes back 'from the dead' that there's always an accompanying change in image." 

"That's not entirely true..." Superman started to interject, then realized that he probably wasn't the best person to be making that argument. 

"It's not rocket science, Superman," Webster continued. "Look, every time Madonna or that Spears girl comes out with a new look, their popularity takes a huge bump and they're just musicians. We're not talking anything major here, just some minor aesthetic changes. You know: trim the hair a bit, maybe shave the beard..." 

Superman and Flash traded concerned glances, both feeling the chances of an Arthur return dwindling at a rate that _Wally_ would have trouble keeping up with. 

Webster noticed the shared look and jumped in. "I'm not asking him to lop off his other hand or anything, just a few small adjustments to the image. Though I think it's high time we do something about that grisly harpoon..."

"Grisly?" Superman gawked as Wally attempted to cover his laugh with a cough. 

"The thing is frightening, Superman," Webster explained. "Useful tool or no, the man is walking around with this ghastly looking lethal weapon for a left hand - and it doesn't exactly diminish the whole Captain Hook vibe..."

"So, what did you have in mind?" Wally probed, chuckling while pointedly ignoring the don't-encourage-him stare from Superman. Mostly, he was just curious to see where Webster was going with all of this.

"I don't know," Webster replied absently. "Give him a... magic water hand or something..."

"A... magic... water... hand," Superman repeated slowly, as if saying the words one at a time would somehow make them make more sense. Whether it was Webster's ridiculous suggestion or Superman's aghast reply - or perhaps, a little of both - Wally was unable to contain his laughter any more. 

"Uh... guys?" Green Lantern's rather weak sounding greeting came from the doorway to the conference room. Wally turned to regard his friend's arrival and his smile immediately vanished, replaced with a look of complete shock. Green Lantern looked, quite literally, like he'd been run through a blender. His costume was dirty and torn in several places, small cuts and scrapes visible on the skin underneath. The most disturbing, though, was that the left side of Lantern's face was completely covered in blood stemming from a large wound just above his brow. 

"KYLE!" Flash yelped in surprise, instantly zipping across the room to catch his friend before the emerald-clad hero collapsed to the floor. Before Lantern's arrival, they had been steeped in light, basically cordial conversation - an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity - so no one really noticed it on a conscious level. But somewhere, deep within the recesses of Webster's subconscious mind, he noted that it was the first time in all of his time working with the League that he'd ever heard one of the Leaguers referred to by their _real_ name.

Wally slowly lowered Kyle to a sitting position on the floor. Kyle's head lolled back, resting against the wall next to the doorway. He was conscious, but obviously fighting to stay so, all too familiar with the symptoms of shock and the dangers of passing out. Superman rushed over to one of the small compartments in the conference room and then rushed to Kyle's side holding a small medical kit. He and Wally set to work administering first aid to their wounded comrade while Webster looked on in disbelief, keeping a respectful distance from the activity. 

They managed to get Kyle mostly cleaned up and bandaged, then lifted him gently from both sides and began to lead him down toward the Infirmary. Webster followed quietly, honestly concerned over the hero's well being. Despite outward appearances to the contrary, Webster Hoyt considered the Justice League to be one of the best clients he'd ever worked for. They were heroes, every one, and it was hard not to appreciate and respect that. But beyond that, he'd come to truly care for each and every member of the League - their drive, their dedication and their commitment to their ideals were astounding. He also came to realize that he genuinely liked each one of them - each for their own different reasons - and that spending a little time with each of them, you couldn't help but be drawn in by their charm, their intelligence, and their tenacity. At that moment, as he walked slowly toward the infirmary behind Superman, Flash and the injured Green Lantern, he wondered how _anyone_ on the planet could ever consider these people _bad_. If everyone could just see what _he_ could see... and he suddenly realized that that was the solution he'd been looking for all along...

Once they had Green Lantern laying in a hospital-style bed in the infirmary and were able to properly clean and dress his wounds, he began to perk up. The wound in his head hadn't been nearly as bad as they had originally thought - typical for scalp wounds, which tend to bleed profusely from very little actual damage. The color began to return to Lantern's cheeks and he actually managed to keep his head up without assistance. Satisfied that Kyle was coherent enough for an explanation, Superman leaned in. 

"What happened?" 

"Effigy," Lantern croaked, his voice hoarse and dry. He glanced around the area, obviously looking for something. Superman suddenly stepped away from the bedside and returned seconds later with a glass of water. Kyle mouthed a silent thank you to Superman, then took the glass and began to drink slowly. Superman glanced at Flash, who was seething just below the surface. 

"Call the rest of the team," Flash instructed through gritted teeth. "We're taking this sicko down once and for all..."

"No!" Kyle interrupted before he had fully pulled the glass away from his mouth, the result being a good portion of water spilling down his front. He set the glass on one of the bedside tables and brushed the water off his chest, mumbling to himself about his own clumsiness. Flash and Superman eyed him curiously for the outburst. 

"Effigy didn't do this," Kyle explained, still a little scratchiness to his voice. "Well, he was the reason for it, but he wasn't directly responsible... except, I guess in a way he was, because none of this would have happened if it weren't for him... but he wasn't the one to cause..."

Superman had opened his mouth to interrupt Kyle in mid-ramble, but had to pause for a second as he became acutely aware that Webster was in the room and he had almost interrupted Kyle by calling him by name. Superman's mind flashed back to the conference room, trying to think if Wally had actually slipped in front of Webster. He dismissed the thought almost as quickly, and held a hand up to stop Kyle's confused diatribe. 

"Lantern, please." Superman spoke in calming, even tones. "Start from the beginning." 

Kyle recanted the story, filling in all of the pertinent details. Martyn Van Wyck, the fire-powered supervillain known as Effigy, had escaped from his S.T.A.R. Labs containment cell that morning and had gone on a rampage across the eastern United States. Lantern had gone after him, succeeding in keeping the fight mainly in the air and over unpopulated areas. Unfortunately, Effigy led the fight directly into the heart of Washington D.C. - more specifically, in the middle of The Mall, halfway between the Capitol building and the Washington Monument. There, the whole dynamic of the fight changed as Kyle suddenly found himself having to protect the hundreds of innocent by-standers from Effigy's rampage. 

Kyle's brow knotted slightly as he tried to focus on what happened next, the details still somewhat jumbled in his shaken mind. 

"Then... somehow, Effigy got the jump on me. I had just gotten a crowd of school children out of harm's way and I was blindsided by a huge blast of fire. Next thing I knew, I was pinned to the ground and Effigy was standing over me, pure hatred in his eyes. I swear, I've never seen him like that before. I mean, he's always been a bit off his rocker, but this was different. This was pure, focussed rage... and I knew... somewhere deep inside I knew, this was it. He was going to kill me, right there in front of all those people..."

Kyle's eyes glossed over, his cloudy mind locking onto the one crystal-clear detail - the burning eyes of insanity, boring into his soul. Superman placed a calming hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Please, go on..."

Kyle shook the memory from his mind, then continued. "Then, I don't know what happened... something hit him in the head... I couldn't really tell. All I saw was that his head suddenly jerked back and he was off of me. I didn't have time to stop and consider how lucky I was, I just immediately hopped up, ready for whatever was next... or so I thought."

He paused long enough to grab the glass of water off the side table and take a sip. "I saw Effigy, standing there and arguing with a crowd of people. A _large_ crowd. I have no idea where they came from or what they were doing there, but there were a lot of them and they were all shouting things at him. Things like 'get out of here' and 'we don't want you here'... I don't know, I couldn't make sense of it all. The other thing that struck me was that they all had things in their hands... sticks, rocks, bottles, tools... it was like every last one of them was armed with whatever they could get their hands on. Anyway, I thought that it was over, that the good people of D.C. had come to my rescue and the situation was diffusing. Then, they started throwing things at him. Whatever they had in their hands and whatever else they could find. It was like all of a sudden, everything shifted and I realized that Effigy was the one in trouble. He was being besieged by this... enraged mob. I quickly threw a shielding bubble around him and called for the crowd to calm down. I told them I appreciated the help, but that I could take care of it from here..."

"Then something hit me in the forehead. I don't know what it was... a rock, a bottle, a briefcase... all I know is it was hard... _really_ hard. I saw quick flashing lights in my eyes and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground... when I finally caught my bearings, there were people all around me... shouting down at me. It was so loud and so chaotic that I couldn't make out anything that they were saying, just that they were yelling. I could feel hands grabbing at me - my clothes, my hair, my face... then, the kicking and punching started..."

Kyle's voice broke and his lip started to quiver. Superman and Flash looked at each other, neither one believing what they were hearing. This kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen. Not to them. Superman shot a quick glance at an equally astounded and perplexed Webster, then returned his attention to Kyle just as the young hero was regaining his composure. Kyle knew he had to continue whether he wanted to or not... they had to know what had happened.

"I was able to get a protective shield up around my body, but not before I'd taken quite a few hits. Y'know, I didn't even think about it at the time, but thinking back now, I'm realizing that they kept going, even after the shield went up. You guys know how that shield works... it's basically like an energy aura that surrounds my whole body - like a crust of pure solid energy... it had to be like punching stone! But still, they kept going..."

"Anyway, I was finally able to propel myself up out of the mob and into the air. It surprised them, but they quickly turned their attention toward me in the sky and continued shouting. Then, over the din of the crowd, I heard another voice. It started as a cry of pain, but was quickly building into a howl of rage. I looked around and noticed the second throng of people... surrounding Effigy. Now, I know Martyn enough to know that he's not the most mentally stable person on the planet... and I know that part of that is due to the abuse he suffered as a child, so I knew things were going to get even uglier in a hurry. The buildup had obviously already started because the circle around him suddenly widened as the people surrounding him stepped back, throwing their arms up in front of their faces to block them from the heat. In the center of the circle was Effigy, curled into a ball on the ground and trembling so hard I could see it from my vantage point some 20 feet in the air... I quickly fired a beam down and surrounded him with a protective bubble... just in time..."

"The explosion was like nothing I had ever felt before. I managed to contain it... _barely_. Even with the shield up, the concussive blast was still powerful enough to knock a few of the surrounding people off their feet. Then, the strangest thing happened... everything got completely still. It's like the whole city froze for an instant... no one moved, no one said anything... even the birds stopped chirping. It's like every living thing in the immediate area was just instantly shocked into realizing its own mortality. Anyway... I had that instant to act, so I closed the bubble in the ground underneath Effigy and lifted the whole thing up into the sky and got the hell out of there."

"It didn't take long for me to realize that I wasn't going to make it very far with that explosion still bottled up inside the bubble. It was like trying to lug a small moon around... I expanded the bubble some to relieve some of the strain and flew out over the Atlantic. Once I was a safe distance away, I opened a small hole in the top of the bubble to vent the explosion. I swear, I've never seen anything like it in my life... a column of fire shot at least a hundred feet straight up into the air for a good fifteen, twenty seconds straight. When it finally finished, all that was left in the ball was a small mound of dirt and Effigy's body. Fearing the worst, I brought the bubble closer and had the ring analyze the interior. He was alive, thank God, but in a coma. He must have expelled every last bit of energy he had in that blast..."

"I made it back to S.T.A.R. Labs with his body in tow. I kept him sealed in the bubble, unsure of how... well, anything would affect his body. In all that time, I never realized how banged up I was... I suppose the look of complete shock on the faces of the docs at SL should have told me, but I refused treatment there, telling them I was fine. I guess it was the adrenaline or something... I don't know. So I started flying home. It wasn't until I was about halfway home that it finally caught up with me. I realized I wasn't going to make it, so I activated the emergency teleport on my Comm Link and came up here..."

Kyle took another sip of his water, put the glass back on the side table and dropped his head back onto the pillow, exhausted. The room was quiet for a moment as they all tried to process what had happened. Kyle was actually the first to voice the same questions they were all asking in their heads. 

"How did this happen?" he asked weakly. "What got into all those people? I... I've never seen..."

Superman again put his hand on Kyle's shoulder in an attempt to keep the battered hero calm. "I don't know, Lantern. None of us do. Just try to get some rest - you've been through quite an ordeal."

"Ya think?" Kyle replied sarcastically with a weak smile. Superman smiled in return, glad to see that at least Kyle's sense of humor remained unscathed. He squeezed Kyle's shoulder gently, then stepped away from the bed and toward the door, motioning for Webster and Wally to do the same. Webster nodded and stepped out into the hallway, but Wally stayed right beside Kyle's bed, wrapped in thought. Superman moved around beside Wally to gently pull him away, but Wally leaned down, looking directly at Kyle. 

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Wally promised in a resolute tone. Kyle glanced up at his friend, realizing that in all of their years as friends, he'd never seen Wally so... determined. He held up his hand, which Wally grasped firmly and the two stared at each other for a moment. Wally shook their grasped hands once, sealing the promise, then nodded once. "Get some sleep, Kyle. Call us if you need anything."

Kyle nodded, then released Wally's hand, slumping back into the bed. Wally turned, walked straight past Superman without any acknowledgement and stormed out into the hall. Superman followed right behind him and closed the door to the infirmary on his way out. The three men walked back to the Conference Room in complete silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the hallways like the beats of a broken heart. 

Once they returned to the Conference Room, Webster turned to Superman. "Will he be okay?"

"Physically, he'll be fine. Just a few bumps and bruises and that gash on his forehead," Superman responded. "But mentally? Emotionally? It's hard to tell. I may call Martian Manhunter to come up and talk to him. Manhunter's done some incredible work with trauma victims..."

The two men stood in silence for a moment, then both looked over at Flash, who was sitting in his chair, leaning forward with his hand dangling down in front of him. He stared straight ahead at the floor, a mixture of pain, anger and concern etched on his features. 

Superman finally returned his attention to Webster. "How did it get this bad, Webster? How did we not see this coming?" 

'I honestly don't know, Superman," Webster replied, then continued, ignoring the derisive snort from Flash. "I knew that McKinley's popularity had been on the rise, but I had no idea it had gone this far. I don't know how he's managed to effect so many people, especially all in one place... wait a minute!" Webster suddenly reached into his jacket and pulled out a small digital personal organizer and began pressing buttons madly. Superman watched him, patiently waiting for an explanation to his sudden action. Webster stared at small screen in disbelief for a moment, muttering to himself. 

"Dear God..."

"What is it, Webster?" 

"Green Lantern said that all of this took place in D.C., right? On The Mall in the middle of Washington?"

"Yes." 

Webster held his organizer up, showing Superman the calendar on the screen. "Leon McKinley is holding a rally for his new PACE organization there in two days. Right there on The Mall..."

Superman stared at the screen in surprise for a moment, then shifted his perplexed stare to Webster. "I... are you telling me that Leon McKinley somehow _orchestrated_ this attack?!" 

Webster considered the statement for a moment in horror. In truth, he hadn't even thought that far into it; he'd just thought he'd discovered the reason why there were so many Pro-McKinley supporters in the area. "No," he answered finally, after thinking it through. "There's no way he was behind this. I'm sure that's why those people were there, but McKinley doesn't have that kind of power. He would have had to coordinate everyone being in DC while somehow managing to break Effigy out of his S.T.A.R. Labs containment cell and convincing him to take the fight into Washington. No, McKinley's good, but he's not that g..."

Webster didn't have time to finish the sentence as he suddenly found himself pinned to the wall of the Conference Room, Flash's forearm pressed against his chest. Flash's face, mere inches from Webster's, was flushed with anger, so red that it was hard to discern where his face ended and his scarlet cowl began. 

"Don't you ever - **_EVER!_** - say that again!" Flash screamed in Webster's face with surprising viciousness. "I never want to hear you use the word 'good' in reference to that man again! There's absolutely _nothing_ 'good' about that man. He's an evil, rotten, misogynistic bigot that deserves nothing more than utter contempt and a few thousand kicks in the ass delivered at light speed..."

"F-Flash, please..." Webster managed to choke out as the forearm against his chest pressed in tighter. "Y... you mis-misunderstood me..."

"Oh, I understood you perfectly, _Webster_," Flash spat the name more than spoke it. He wasn't yelling any more but rather growling in a controlled, frighteningly sinister tone. "I also understand that we hired you to do a job - a job that included stopping assholes like McKinley from spreading their shit across the country, a job that included preventing this very sort of thing from happening. A job at which you _failed miserably_ today. And the result of your inability to perform the job we hired you for is sitting down in the Med Lab right now _with a **gaping head-wound**_! So consider this your notice, Webster. I'm officially holding you _personally_ responsible for what happened to my friend today and for, God forbid, anything like this that happens to one of us in the future. This is _your _job, this is _your _responsibility, and this is _YOUR_ problem! **_FIX IT!!_**" 

With that, Flash released his grip on Webster, dropping him back down onto very shaky feet, then turned and purposefully stomped - at normal speed - out of the Conference Room. 

*****

Two days later, Steve Jenkins, Chief of Staff to the Senate Majority Leader, peeked out of the curtain flanking the temporary stage set up on the lawn in front of the Washington Monument, marveling at the massive crowd gathered on the Mall. Close to 30,000 people had gathered for the PACE rally, nearly twice as many as had been expected. He felt a light tapping on his shoulder and pulled away from the curtain.

"Ron! Good to see you," Steve greeted the man with a warm handshake. "Glad you could make it. Quite the turnout, huh?" 

"Quite," the man replied with a pleased smile. 

"There's someone I want you to meet." Steve placed a hand on the man's shoulder, leading him toward the area just behind the stage. Leon McKinley stood at the base of the stairs leading up to the stage, listening to the columnist from the Wall Street Journal who was giving the opening remarks on the stage. 

"Leon!" Steve called, having to shout over the sudden cheering of the crowd. Leon turned to see Steve approaching and smiled broadly, the kind of smile usually reserved for Televangelists and used car salesmen. 

"Mr. Jenkins," Leon greeted in his deep Mississippi drawl, shaking the man's hand. He glanced to the stranger standing next to Steve for a moment, then added, "It's good to see you again." 

"Likewise," Steve replied, then motioned toward the man beside him. "This is Ron Pennington, a representative from the RNC."

Leon and Ron shook hands. "Mr. McKinley, it's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Pennington," Leon replied, a little perplexed why Jenkins had set up a meet-and-greet with a member of the RNC. 

"I know that time is short here," Ron began, "so I'll cut right to the chase. The Committee has been following your work for the last several months and, to be quite frank Mr. McKinley, we've been _very_ impressed. I was wondering if maybe you and I could sit down in the near future and discuss a few things?" 

"Certainly," Leon agreed tentatively. "What things?" 

"Well, as you are probably aware, there's an election coming up next November for a good portion of seats in the House and Senate. What you may not know is that there's likely to be a seat opening up in the Senate - for Mississippi. One of their current Senators, Senator Coles, had that... unfortunate incident with his intern last year and while the RNC would normally still support his re-election bid, if we had someone else available as a replacement candidate..."

The voice on from the stage suddenly interrupted the conversation. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to introduce to you... Leon McKinley!" 

"That's my cue," Leon replied over the roaring crowd, taking two steps up the staircase toward the stage. 

"Mr. McKinley?" Ron called after him. Leon turned around, smile still firmly planted on his face. 

"Mr. Pennington, call my office this evening after the rally. They'll schedule us some time." 

Ron smiled wide, nodding. "Good luck out there!" 

"Thank you," Leon called back, then energetically climbed the rest of the stairs to an increased cheer from the crowd. After the cheering finally subsided and Leon began his speech, Ron watched him speak for a moment, then turned to Steve. 

"Is he running without a script?" 

"He does that," Steve explained. "Ever since I've started watching him, he's never used a script. For long ones, like this one, he may actually write it down, but then he'll memorize it beforehand..."

"Are you telling me he's completely memorized a solid 30-minute speech?" 

"Yeah. Sometimes I think it's amazing and other times it's just... freaky," Steve replied with a chuckle. 

They listened for a few more minutes, then Steve turned to Ron. 

"Well? What do you think?" 

"He's certainly got the charm and personality," Ron answered. "And there's no denying that he can work a crowd. Has anyone vetted him?"

"We did," Jenkins replied. "He's clean. _Surprisingly_ clean. Not even a traffic violation..." 

Both men stood in silence for a moment, listening to McKinley's speech. Jenkins finally broke the silence. 

"So the real question is: Is he electable?" 

Ron turned to him, about to answer, but a sudden repeated chant of "McKinley! McKinley! McKinley!" from the crowd stopped him. He got a wry smile on his face and leaned in close to Steve's ear.

"Definitely." 

*****

The speech was going exceptionally well. Leon spoke with an eloquence and clarity that belied his thick accent and the crowd was reacting beautifully. As usual, he had no written remarks, no notes. He liked speaking without a script - preferring the off-the-cuff feeling and the ability to tailor his remarks depending on the situation. 

The whole speech had started surprisingly low-key. He started by thanking everyone for attending and marveled at the incredible turn out. He spoke at length about PACE and their new initiatives for true reform in the over-seeing of Metahuman activities in the country and around the world. He explained their charter and their growing list of resources, their drive to make the United States a safe and better nation by doing whatever was necessary to reduce the number of Metahuman related crimes and... "accidents". He announced that he would be standing before a joint session of the Senate and the House of Representatives the following week to plead his case, the _People's_ case, in the on-going struggle against what he continued to refer to as the "Metahuman Problem". McKinley stayed remarkably low-key - for him anyway - as he rambled off startling statistics about the victims of Metahuman activities and even more frightening results from independent research facilities about the potential exponential increase in those statistics within the next five years. But as the speech reached the twenty-minute mark, he began to get more and more intense. 

"Why do we allow this continue, Ladies and Gentlemen? Why do we turn a blind eye to what's going on around us, to what's happening _to_ us, and allow these beings to hold such a revered part of our community's heart? I will be the first to admit that it's easy to get sucked in to it, to be dazzled and awed by the glitz and glamour, to marvel at the exciting pageantry of it all. But the time has come to move past that. Once you strip away the brightly colored costumes and the dazzling displays of power and strength, what do you have? You have a bunch of grown-up children, running around in their pajamas, playing a perverse game of cops and robbers on a global scale! A sick game where the winners smile and strut and the losers run away, only to come back later and start the whole disgusting thing over again. It's a self-perpetuating loop of battle after ridiculous battle - like a demented, Superpowered Mobius Strip - and it's hard to remember where it began and impossible to see it ever ending. But unlike the childhood version, this game is deadly... just not to the players. No, the players never die - or if they do they somehow magically come back from the dead - and all the combatants will eventually face off again. No, the only real victim in this whole charade is _us_. _We're_ the ones who are suffering! _We're_ the ones getting wounded! _We're_ the ones **dying**!"

"Well, I say **_'No More'_**!" A huge cheer erupted from the crowd. Leon waited for only a moment, then spoke out over the cheering. "I say the game is over! I say the contest has been declared a draw and the combatants can just go home! We don't _want_ you here! We don't _need _you here! And we're sure as hell not going to tolerate this garbage any longer!"

He paused again, this time waiting for the sustained cheer to finally die down. 

"Now, I could stand up here all day making metaphor after metaphor to explain my point, but the fact is you all already know the truth or you wouldn't be here today. You are already familiar with the problems we're facing and you don't need a bunch of empty rhetoric from a podium-thumping panderer," Leon flashed a dazzling smile that carried all the way to the back of the crowd, "...regardless of how charming and handsome that panderer may be." 

A great laugh rolled across the crowd, a laugh that Leon reveled in. A little humor went a long way... and at that moment, he knew he had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. 

"All joking aside, Ladies and Gentlemen, the truth is - you're looking for answers. You're looking for a solution to the Metahuman problem that's plaguing this great nation and the rest of the world. Now, I'm not going to stand up here and pretend to have all the answers - I certainly don't. But I do have a few ideas and maybe together, we can come up with some solutions."

Leon smiled inwardly at the sea of nodding heads, at the few affirmative shouts. 

"We all know the problem, so what we really need to do is ask questions. Tough questions. We have to question everything we know - or everything we _think_ we know about these Metahumans. Who are they really? What do we really know about them? We know what we've been _told_ - what we've seen in the newspapers and read in books, what we've seen on TV and heard in interviews. We've been spoon-fed this image, this package of what a Metahuman is and even what we should believe about them. And spoon-fed by whom? By the very people who are in the position to cover up the truth - the Metahumans themselves! So what do we truly know about them? Surprisingly little! And quite frankly, some of the things we _do_ know are more frightening than what we don't."

McKinley went on, getting louder and angrier by the minute. He began pounding the podium as he railed against Metahumans and Superheroes in general, talking about how it was ridiculous to call them "Superhuman" since many of them weren't even human to start wint, but aliens or bastardizations of science and technology. He ranted about how they begged for the world to accept them while at the same time hiding behind masks and in secret lairs and that it was getting increasingly more difficult to tell the "Heroes" from the "Villains". He called them all criminals. For some in attendance, this is what they had been waiting for - watching the man speak was truly a sight to behold. 

"So why do we allow it to continue? What purpose are they serving? Justice?! Whose Justice? Your Justice? Mine? Or their own! These groups of Metas give themselves names like _Justice Society_ and _Justice League_, all the while spitting in the very face of Justice herself. It's a mockery of everything we hold dear and for no other reason than their own personal, warped agendas. And what of their methods? These spectacular displays and awe-inspiring feats only serve to bedazzle and beguile us. You know, I've seen 'magic acts' in Las Vegas that rival anything I've seen on the six o'clock news and quite frankly, I'm not impressed any more. Once the lights fade and the smoke clears, all we're left with are crumbled buildings, damaged property and shattered lives. There's only one kind of criminal that attacks in a whirlwind of violence and mayhem, leaving only destruction and chaos in their wake. The fact is, these Metas are Terrorists. They spread fear and panic wherever they go, then fly off leaving the rest of us to deal with the consequences."

"It's time to hold these Metas accountable for their actions. This country has a long-standing and well-established policy of never negotiating with Terrorists. The reasons for that policy are perfectly clear - if you give into one Terrorist, you'll eventually have to give in to all of them and you've just announced to the world that it's open season on your citizens. Well I say that maybe it's time to amend that policy to include those Terrorists operating within our borders, _especially_ those that enshroud themselves in the banner of 'Superhero'. It has been open season on all of us for far too long and it's high time that we stand up and proclaim together in one united voice that we will NOT be beholden to these Metahumans any longer! We will not be oppressed or controlled or ruled or held down by you, just because you wear tights and a cape! The time is _now_, my friends; we must stand together as the combined voice of the Nation and proclaim our freedom from tyranny, just as our Founding Fathers did over 200 years ago. And we _must _stand together, for while one voice is easy to silence, but there is no one and nothing that can silence the voice of an entire nation. So now is the time to speak... and to **_act_**!"

Had McKinley even been paying attention at that point, he would have noticed that the crowd reaction was much smaller than it had been throughout the rest of the speech. In fact, had he been paying attention, he would have noticed that most of the crowd was no longer carefully listening or attentively following what he was saying, but rather they were looking around at one another, as if trying to confirm that they were all hearing the same speech. Most of the attendees agreed, at least to some extent, that Metas were causing damage - were putting them in danger. But calling them Terrorists? 

"As many of you are no doubt aware, an incident occurred right in this very city... just up the grassy way behind you, in fact... just two short days ago. An incident that the Media, the _Press_, has been calling a catastrophe. Two of these Metahumans started fighting right here on The Mall, throwing their Superpowered blasts back and forth, endangering the lives of countless citizens. And did those citizens run and hide, scattering for shelter at the first sign of trouble? NO! Those fine, upstanding citizens stood up against that tyranny, against that oppression and spoke with their actions - they ran those two Metas out of town on a rail! And now the Press is calling it a _disaster_..." 

McKinley paused for a moment, as if considering his choice of words. The traded glances throughout the audience increased, as more and more people began questioning the man's words... and his sanity. 

"And I have to agree... it _is_ a disaster. It's a disaster that the names of those fine, upstanding citizens are being marred and debased for ridiculous political agendas! It's a disaster that these normal, right-thinking Americans' names are being dragged through the muck of Pro-Metahuman ideologies. And it's a disaster... that they weren't able to finish the job!" He ignored the collective gasp from the crowd and plowed on, getting more and more enraged as he went. 

"These citizens were standing up for what they believed in and in turn, they are being harassed and reprimanded for their actions! And while some in the elite Liberal media may choose to call their actions heinous or deplorable, I applaud their actions as the _right _of every free citizen to protect themselves from these... these... _animals_! And make no mistake, Ladies and Gentlemen, that's _exactly _what these Metas are: Animals! They're like a pack of rabid dogs, running amok across this planet and doing whatever they like, to whomever they choose. Well, rabid dogs cannot be rehabilitated. Rabid dogs are not treatable. There's only one way to handle a rabid dog and that's to put it down!"

He stopped, as if suddenly realizing what he had said, and stared out at the sea of confused faces. Then, without any indication to what had just occurred, Leon McKinley straightened his tie, cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. 

"Thank you all for coming. God Bless you all and God Bless America." 

*****

Up on the Watchtower, Superman, Wonder Woman and Webster Hoyt all stood staring at the monitor screen in wide-eyed disbelief. Batman stood beside them, arms crossed across his chest, his face displaying the normal lack of any emotion. The four of them stood in complete silence, each of them unable to pull their attention from the screen. Webster finally broke the trance as he reached into his sport coat, pulled out his cell phone and turned to Superman. 

"Will this work up here?" Webster asked with sudden urgency. 

When Superman failed to respond, his eyes still locked on the screen, Batman turned to Webster and replied. "Steel installed a cellular transceiver up here the last time we had a public press conference in the Tower. It should still be active." 

Webster nodded, then hurriedly flipped the phone open and began punching numbers. 

"Great Hera," Wonder Woman gasped at the screen - where the crowd had obviously gotten over their initial shock and were starting to get unruly. Several small fights had started to break out in amongst the crowd and several people began to rush the empty stage. The whole crowd seemed on the verge of a full-scale riot. 

"Let's go..." Superman declared, heading toward the door, Wonder Woman close behind.

"**Stop!**" Batman commanded in a voice that left no room for argument. "Let the local authorities handle this." 

"Batman, there's close to 30,000 people down there that are a hair's breadth away from rioting. I don't think the local authorities are going to be able to handle it..." Superman responded.

"And considering who those 30,000 people are and what they're upset about, do you really think that throwing a bunch of 'costumes' into the mix is the best approach?" Batman growled. 

Superman and Wonder Woman traded glances, both realizing that Batman was right but neither wanting to leave such a potential catastrophe alone. Sensing their trepidation, Batman explained. "The D.C. Police are already there - they always have a few squads posted at events this large. Not to mention, it's D.C. - the National Guard can be there in 5 minutes, if needed." 

All three of them glanced at the large screen, noticing that the Police were already in their Riot Gear and moving into position to contain the unruly crowd. 

"But if you still insist on going," Batman continued, "Civilian clothes only. And be discreet." He stared at them a moment longer to drive the point home, then stormed off toward the door. 

"Wait! Where are you going?" Superman called after him. Batman didn't respond, just simply kept walking, mentally grumbling to himself about Clark's insistence on asking questions he really didn't want the answers to. 

"Laura!" Webster chirped into his phone, relieved that he finally got through to his assistant. "Yes, I saw it. Start working the phone tree. I want to talk to the News Director for every network before six o'clock and the EIC's of every major newspaper by ten... I don't care, just make it happen... By tomorrow morning, I want every headline on every newspaper on every newsstand across the country to read: **Leon McKinley: The Next Hitler!**" 

*****

That night, Leon McKinley sat in the large leather office chair behind his desk, staring at a small spot of nothing on the far wall of his office. He was the calm center of the maelstrom of activity in his dimly lit office. There were a handful of other people in the room, each one shouting louder than the next and most of them shouting at him. He heard what all of them were saying, but simply sat motionless, the blank stare etched on his face. 

Steve Jenkins bellowed about how badly this screwed things up for several high ranking Representatives and Senators and that Ron Pennington would probably never speak to him again. A page from Senator Wilkenson's office roared that there was no way he was going to be speaking in front of Congress next week. The accountant Leon had hired to help out with PACE screamed that within the last hour, half of their financial backers had pulled their funding. The president of the west coast PACE chapter rambled about the ten-man fist fight he'd gotten caught in the middle of. PACE's media consultant howled about the swarm of reporters outside the office and that every TV station in the country _already_ had a copy of the speech - and the ensuing riot. Vanessa, Leon's secretary, trying to remain the calmest one in the room, had to shout just to be heard while she waved a large stack of pink "While you were out" notes beside him. Through it all, Leon sat with his eyes glazed over, not moving an inch. 

Finally, Steve Jenkins held out his hands, motioning for everyone to be quiet. He stared angrily at Leon, acting as the de facto spokesman for the whole group. "Leon! What the hell were you thinking?!? How could you say all of those... things?! What on Earth possessed you to... HEY!" He snapped his fingers several times in front of Leon's face. "Earth to Rambling Psychopath!! _Is anybody in there_?!" 

Leon's eyes suddenly clamped shut, his head bowing slowly as he exhaled a huge sigh. His mouth moved, his voice barely above a whisper. "Get out." 

"What?" Jenkins snapped, anger dripping off the word. 

Leon suddenly sprung to his feet, sending his chair careening back into the wall behind him. He slammed both of his fists down onto his desk so hard that he cracked the veneer finish. **_"GET OUT!!"_**

Everyone in the room jumped at the sudden outburst, several of them taking a step back. With the exception of Steve and Vanessa, everyone hustled out of the room, all of them muttering to each other about his obvious descent into Crazyland. 

Steve and Leon stared daggers at each other, matching scowl for scowl, venom for venom, across Leon's desk. 

"You're finished in this town, McKinley," Steve spat. "Hell, you're finished in this _country_. By tomorrow morning, you won't be able to get a job washing dishes at a truck stop in the middle of Bumfuck, Iowa." He stared at Leon a moment longer, then when he realized he wasn't going to get a response, he threw up his hands in frustration and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. 

Leon muttered several curses under his breath and then turned around and picked up his chair, setting it back on its castors. 

Vanessa cleared her throat timidly. "S-sir? What do you want to..."

He spun on her as if he had just realized she was still in the room. "Dammit, Vanessa! I said..." he stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just... I really just need to be left alone now. Just... go on out..." She nodded weakly, then walked toward the door. 

"In fact," Leon called after her, "just go on home. We're done for the day." 

"But sir, everyone else is still here and..."

"Tell 'em all to leave." He waved his hand dismissively. "Just get everyone out of here. Please." 

She nodded again, then quietly left the office and closed the door behind her. Leon slumped back down into his chair and stared at the wall, that spot of nothing becoming exceedingly interesting again. 

He waited until the noise in the outer office died down. He waited until the gaggle of reporters outside, five stories below, indicated with their barrage of shouted questions the departure of his staff from the building. He waited until din of that pack of investigative vultures faded away into the low hum of late evening traffic. He waited until he was finally _alone_, then he stood up from his chair and plodded heavily over to the small wet bar along the wall of his office. He hadn't asked for it - it had just come with the office, part of the leftover furniture from the office building's previous tenant. He stared down at the carved crystal decanter filled with light brown liquid, the light from his desk lamp dancing beautifully over the roughly-cut edges. 

Leon McKinley hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since the day his children died. "How could he?" - was the strange thought in his head. He reached out with one finger and traced the carving on the bottle, his eyes transfixed. 

****

"Rough day, Leon?" 

The deep, rumbling voice jerked him away from the bottle and he spun around, his eyes frantically searching the dimly lit room. Then, out of the shadows near the corner of the room stepped a large, dark and imposing figure, the front of his cape open just enough to reveal the large symbol of a bat splayed across his massive chest. Leon's eyes widened in horror, the bitter mixture of adrenaline and fear spilling into the back of his mouth. 

"Interesting speech today," Batman growled, stepping just enough into the light to make his face discernable from the shadows. 

Leon wanted to scream for help but his heart was firmly lodged in his vocal cords. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe - the whole of his senses locked onto that single imposing figure. 

""I especially liked the part," Batman continued, his penetrating eyes locked onto Leon's, "where you called us all _rabid dogs_..."

"V-V-Van-essa!" Leon finally managed to call out, though his trembling voice was barely loud enough to make it to the door. 

"She's gone, Mr. McKinley." Batman's voice took on lighter, yet somehow more sinister tone. "Remember? They're all gone. You sent them all away." 

McKinley's brow knotted slightly and his jaw suddenly firmed. He squared his shoulders somewhat and his chest swelled slightly with a large intake of breath. Batman knew the posture, he read McKinley's body language perfectly - somehow, somewhere, Leon had gotten past the initial shock and discovered his backbone. Quicker than most, Batman noted, but nevertheless just as he planned it. 

"T-there are still security guards in the building," Leon threatened, the last bits of abject fear dwindling under this cornered bravado. 

"You mean the security guards that are bound, gagged and unconscious on the Boiler Room floor?" Batman replied flatly. 

Leon's eyes widened again and immediately began darting from side to side, scanning about the room in panic. They finally locked onto the telephone sitting just a few feet away on the corner of his desk. He pulled them away, staring again at the unmoving figure... halfway across the room. Surely he could make it to the phone and press 911 before this... monster could reach him...

Leon lunged, trying to keep one eye on the phone and one eye on the shadowed wraith looming across the room. His heart pounded in anticipation and relief as he clumsily grasped the handset in one hand while his other hand fumbled for the "9" key. But instead of the warmth of a soft plastic key, his fingers touched cold metal. He stared down at the phone... and the large metal bat-shaped object now sticking up from the middle of the faceplate and his mind finally registered that he hadn't even seen the figure move. He stared down at the gleaming black metal object for a moment, then something suddenly snapped in his brain. His fear turned into desperation, which made the quick leap to rage. With sudden ferocity, he grabbed base of the telephone and pulled, yanking the jack out of the wall. He flung the phone-missile at his provoker, howling in anger. 

Batman didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't even turn his head to watch the plastic phone sail harmlessly past him some two feet to his right. 

**__**

"What do you want from me?!?!" Leon screamed, his voice cracking. 

Batman said nothing, merely stepped toward him, somehow crossing the distance between them in two steps. All the while, his eyes remained locked on his prey. Leon stared up at him, a motion made all the more frightening as Leon discovered that this large, imposing beast of a man was actually the same height he was. Defeated, Leon dropped his head and stared intently at the floor. 

"You'll make me right," he croaked with surprising ire in his voice. "Whatever you do to me, you'll just prove me right. You'll only prove to me and the rest of the world what... _monsters _you people really are..."

"But, I'm not going to do anything to you, Leon." Batman replied in a lighter but no less harrowing tone. Leon jerked his head up slightly, meeting Batman's gaze once more. 

"I don't have to," Batman continued. "Because nothing I do to you... no _pain I could inflict _on you... could top what you've already done to yourself."

The daunting figure standing over him somehow seemed less imposing to Leon. He didn't step away, or even relax in the slightest; he just suddenly seemed less... overwhelming. "None of us ever had to do anything against you... except wait. Eventually, you would open your mouth and do more damage to this entire ridiculous Anti-Superhero movement than any of _us_ ever could. And now, you have to live with that fact _for the rest of your life_. You have to spend the rest of your days knowing that in the end, the only person responsible for your downfall... was _you_. There is no revenge that we could exact upon you that can outdo the fact that every morning, when you wake up and look in the mirror, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, you'll know deep down in your soul that the _only_ person you can blame for the complete and total annihilation of everything you worked so hard for... _is the man staring back at you_!"

Batman hovered over him for a moment longer, the tense silence enveloping Leon like smog on a hot day. Then, Batman took two slow steps away and started to turn back toward the window he'd entered from. He stopped, mid-turn, as if reconsidering his departure. 

"Then again..." Batman slowly turned his head to stare at Leon once again. "That's probably what you had in mind all along. Isn't it?" He paused before adding - "J'onn." 

Leon's eyes widened in shock, blinked once, then closed as he dropped his chin to his chest with a heavy sigh. He slowly shook his head in disbelief, chuckled once, then looked back up at Batman. 

"World's Greatest Detective..." he drawled sarcastically before suddenly morphing into the form of J'onn J'onzz, The Martian Manhunter. "... I should have known you'd figure it out." 

The two heroes stared at each other, neither one saying a word - verbally or mentally - for a long moment. All of the tension in the room seemed to immediately dissipate as they stared at each other in silence. Finally, they broke the silence simultaneously, both speaking the exact same words in unison - but asking completely different questions.

"How long?" 

J'onn chuckled and the corner of Batman's mouth twitched. 

"You first," J'onn offered.

"How long have I known?" Batman asked.

"Yes," J'onn confirmed, then pointed at him. "And don't give me that 'I'm Batman' answer. I want to know when and how you figured it out." 

Batman's mouth twitched again, then he explained. "In some ways, I've known from the beginning. It's like what Clark told me Webster had said - McKinley was _too_ perfect. Whatever searches and background checks Webster ran, mine were ten times as thorough, and _I_ found nothing on him either. So I knew something was off about him, but it wasn't until the LivePrimetime interview that I finally picked up what it was. From my searches, I'd discovered that Leon McKinley was an impressive baseball player back in High School and College. I'd seen numerous reports talking about the 'phenomenal southpaw from Mississippi'. I knew that McKinley was left-handed, but all of my research indicated that he was actually an extreme left-hander. Not only did he write left-handed and throw a ball left-handed, but he ate with his left hand, used a left-handed mouse on his computer and he wore his watch... on his right wrist." 

J'onn gave him a confused look, then quickly morphed back into McKinley and stared down at his hands - and the gold band clasped tightly around his _left_ wrist. J'onn returned to his normal form, chuckling to himself. "The Devil's in the details..."

"Always," Batman replied. 

"That still doesn't explain how you knew it was _me_..." 

"Well, I had my suspicions, but once I knew McKinley wasn't who he said he was, the rest was rudimentary. I tracked his movements and started noticing that most of his public appearances coincided with lulls in League activity. It was still sketchy - I have to admit you covered your tracks pretty well - but over the last few weeks, you'd gotten a bit more... sloppy. But if your question is how long I've been 100% certain that it was you posing as McKinley?" Batman TwitchSmiled again, glancing at the clock on the wall. "About two minutes." 

J'onn couldn't help but laugh. 

"Okay, your turn," Batman prompted once J'onn's laughter finally died down. "How long?" 

"How long have I been posing as McKinley?" J'onn asked and waited for Batman's nodding reply. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, giving Batman a strangely mischievous look. "Okay, Mister Detective, you tell me." 

Batman stared at him for a moment, then decided to take the challenge. J'onn watched curiously, always amazed to see his friend's mind at work. After a few moments of silent consideration, Batman looked back at J'onn and answered flatly. "Since '97." 

J'onn was only shocked for a split second, then he slowly nodded his head with a wry smile. 

"His kids weren't the only one who died in that accident at the Siegel Hotel." 

J'onn nodded again slowly, this time, the smile was gone.

"The rescue crews found his children's bodies but they never found his."

Nod. 

"And since, rather than rebuild, the owners decided to demolish the building, no one _ever_ found him." 

"Yeah," J'onn replied softly, his own guilt over the tragic deaths of Leon McKinley and his children still weighing heavily on his conscience. 

"He's one of your 'penance cases', isn't he?" Batman asked, his voice far softer than was normally heard inside the cowl. 

J'onn emitted a single chuckle completely devoid of any humor. "Yeah." 

They stared at each other for another long moment. Batman didn't pry any further and J'onn offered no more. They both just accepted it for what it was. 

"So what now?" Batman asked at great length, shaking J'onn from his own thoughts. 

"Now, Leon McKinley is no more. You heard Jenkins - he's 'done in this town'. He'll simply fade from the public eye and most people won't even care. It's probably better that way."

Batman agreed silently, knowing that what J'onn said was true. Within a few months, most people will have forgotten the man altogether. 

"So now," J'onn continued, "the only real problem is: how do I tell the others?" 

Batman considered it for a moment. "There's nothing that says they have to know, J'onn. Right now, there's only two of us that know the truth..." 

J'onn gave him a wry grin. "Three." 

Confusion knotted Batman's brow. "Three? Who's the..." His face lightened in realization. "Arthur." 

"Arthur," J'onn confirmed. "For most of this, I was able to balance my work as Leon with my League responsibilities, but as I got closer and closer to the end, I realized that it was going to take a lot of time as Leon to pull it off. I couldn't risk having to come up with continued excuses for my absences from League affairs, so I needed something to keep the League occupied. I went down to Atlantis, explained the whole thing to Arthur and convinced him to take one of his little 'sabbaticals'."

J'onn chuckled again, this time the humor returning. "The funny thing is, you said before that I'd gotten 'sloppy' near the end - well, _you're_ the reason for that. I had figured that I had at least another week to put everything into place, but then you came along and found Arthur so quickly that I was forced to move up the schedule. I thought for sure that this whole thing was going to come apart on me over the last two weeks, but I somehow managed to keep it all together..."

"There's just one thing that I still don't know," Batman prompted, a strange mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. "Kyle?" 

"Believe it or not," J'onn responded, "just a really bizarre coincidence. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. But it did drive home for me that it needed to end now - and it gave me an outlet to do so..." 

J'onn paused, taking a moment to consider how far he'd actually let it go. He shook those thoughts away - it was something he'd have to come to grips with later. 

"Anyway, there are three of us who know," J'onn said, steering the conversation back on track. 

"Yes, and we're also the three members of the League most able to keep a secret," Batman responded. 

J'onn honestly considered his words for a minute, then shook his head. "No. We can't do that. Not again. After the Protocols fiasco and my screw up with the League dossiers all those years ago... I just can't. They _have_ to know and they have to know everything..."

Batman thought about it, then slowly nodded his head in agreement. "They're going to hate you," he replied flatly. "Especially Kyle." 

"No, they won't _hate_ me. They'll be angry for a while, but they'll get over it eventually. They always do." J'onn knew that this whole thing was far from over. While McKinley and PACE may now be gone, he still had months of repercussions to deal with. But that could wait until tomorrow - right now, he just needed to relax and shake the last of McKinley from his mind. 

"Of course you realize," J'onn added, "that they're going to be mad at _you_ as well..." 

Batman regarded him curiously and J'onn replied with a smile. "They're going to be pissed that you knew about it this whole time and didn't say anything..."

"Hmm... The entire Justice League... upset with me for doing things my own way... and this is new how, exactly?"

It was delivered in that frank, matter-of-fact tone normally reserved for mission briefings and it took J'onn a couple of seconds to actually register what Batman had said. Once it finally filtered through, though, J'onn rocked his head back... and laughed. 

*****


	8. Epilogue

****

EPILOGUE:

****

Watchtower Personal Log  
J'onn J'onnz  
(Cont.)

They were mad at me and for quite a while. But they did get over it. Mostly. Surprisingly, the one who was the most upset with me wasn't Kyle but Wally. I think that all jokes and pranks aside, he and Kyle really are closer than any of us ever imagined and the attack on Kyle really pissed Wally off in ways none of us will ever know. He has mostly managed to put the whole thing behind him, but I've noticed those sideways glances in the field, those glances he normally reserved for Batman. I suppose it was to be expected. I knew it would happen and I knew that some would be more affected than others. And I knew that the majority of their anger and pain would be directed at me, but that's just something I have to accept. I hurt them... and while I believe I was doing the right thing, I also know that I have to take responsibility for the pain I caused them. 

I took a month hiatus from the League once all of it was over - for many reasons. Mainly, I wanted to give the rest of the League time to accept and deal with what had happened without me always around as a constant reminder. But I'd be remiss if I didn't also admit that my reasons for leaving were partly personal. The truth is: I needed time to deal with it myself - time to come to grips with what I had actually done to all of these people that I have considered my friends. The decision to adopt the persona of Leon McKinley and purposefully promote the animosity against the League and Superheroes in general was not made lightly. It took many months of consideration and planning, of introspection and debating with myself if it was really the best course. To be truthful, I'm still not sure it was. 

It appears that during my month away, Webster continued his normal routine of spin and misdirection. His ego boosted by what he considers a major victory over the Anti-Metahuman movement - something that he's been taking far too much personal credit for - he shifted into high gear, coming up with all sorts of ridiculous publicity stunts and insane stories to try and keep the League's public image high. Though we never told Webster the whole truth, he obviously picked up on enough of the animosity the rest of the League was feeling toward me... my extended absence from the League was somehow "mysteriously explained" in a few tabloid articles revealing that I had turned into some evil fire-beast and attacked the League. We've all pretty much decided that this whole "experiment" of having an official PR Agent for the League has been a complete and total failure, but we're waiting for the right time to break the news to Webster. 

Despite Webster's continued involvement in the League, Arthur has in fact returned to Active Duty - which has honestly been a blessing in disguise. His reinvigorated attitude has brought new life to the League and his ability to joke away the harder facts has been a relief to many. It's funny, during my hiatus he offered one of his "uncharted islands" as a retreat, telling me it would do me wonders. After seeing the dramatic change in him since his vacation, I actually tried it for a couple of days. I probably would have stayed longer but for Mother Nature and her Monsoon Season. It was probably just as well... 

In the few months since my return, I've taken the chance to sit down with each of the other Leaguers and discuss what happened. I tried with each of them to offer them solace, to provide them with answers, but it feels like all I really did was apologize. A lot. The truth is, I don't have all the answers myself... and "it seemed like a good idea at the time" just won't suffice...

Bruce has been remarkably supportive of me, not just in his conversations with the others, but with me directly. I think the strategist in Bruce could see what I had accomplished and could respect the fundamental _idea_ behind it, if not the method. But then, Bruce has always been more of a "ends justifying the means" kind of guy - much more so than any of the rest of us. It might be easy to accept that credo, but if my time as Leon McKinley has taught me anything, it's the inherent dangers of exceeding all limits simply for a desired outcome. 

It's funny, Bruce is the one who actually suggested that I write this all down - that I write this log. Now that I'm at the end, I have to say he was right - it was amazingly cathartic just to put all of this down somewhere, to put into words everything we went through... everything I put us through. It's helped me to gain a little better perspective on the whole thing, though I don't think I'm any closer answering the one question that has been on everyone's lips: "Why?" 

Why did I do it? I can't really say. I can say that as far as the original intention of the... mission, I succeeded in my goals. The Anti-Metahuman hysteria that had been slowly building for the last few years was dealt a major blow thanks to the rise and fall of Leon McKinley, though I don't think it will ever truly disappear. Nor should it, quite frankly. Having that voice of dissent does a lot to keep us all humble - to remind us that no matter how great we think we are, there are always people out there who will resent us for what we do. But that voice is much more effective as a gentle reminder than as a shouted demand. It reminds me of something I read about many years ago - back when I was absorbing as much information on the history of the Planet Earth as I could. Back in the days of Ancient Rome, before the time of the Emperors when Rome was a true democracy and the Senate represented the voice of the people, they would periodically hold great ceremonies to honor the military commander of a notably successful foreign war or military campaign. These ceremonies, called _Triumphs_, included a spectacular parade where they marched wagons of gold and other valuables captured during the campaign and concluded with the commander (or Dux) riding through the city on a spectacular chariot. But riding on the chariot with him, standing behind him and holding a laurel crown over his head, was a meager slave whose sole responsibility was to chant over and over in the commander's ear: _"Memento homo"_ - "Remember, you are mortal". Sometimes, that is a voice we desperately need. 

Anyway, I did what I set out to do, but as I said before, the results don't necessarily justify the method. Am I proud of what I've done?... ... ... Certainly not, but I know now what I knew back when I first made this decision - that this problem wasn't going to correct itself and sometimes, we all have to do things we're not really proud of for the sake of those around us. Someone had to step up and do the dirty work necessary to resolve this problem and I made a conscious decision to be the bad guy this time around. It wasn't easy, it wasn't pretty, but it had to be done... because in the end, popular or not, it was the _right_ thing to do. And knowing that makes taking the heat for it a little easier. 

I really don't know how Bruce does it all the time...

For better or for worse, it's over and for better or for worse, the League has persevered through one of the most trying times in its history and come out the other side... a little battered, a lot wiser and a with renewed dedication to the people we fight for. After all that happened, the outpouring of support in our direction has been incredible. It's as if the entire world felt sorry for being misguided by McKinley and decided to make it up to us. In the end, we know that the real heroes aren't the eight of us, but those who believed in us, those that supported us and those that loved us, regardless of what their neighbors were saying. And I did what I did as much for them as I did it for us. 

So now, I guess there's only one last piece of business for us to take care of...

*****

"It's time."

The low, growling voice filled the small room. J'onn looked up from the workstation computer he was typing on, glanced at Batman and nodded. Batman lingered in the doorway a moment, then moved away. J'onn stood up and stretched, his muscles aching from sitting still for so long. He'd been typing for too many hours to count but he felt that it was all worth it. 

After he finished stretching, he stared down at the words on the screen for a long moment. Then, he leaned down and pressed a few command keys. A small message popped up on the screen:

Delete file: "WTPersLog-JJ'onzz"?   
Y/N

His finger hovered back and forth over the keyboard, his eyes locked on the screen. He took a deep breath, nodded lightly to himself and gently pressed the "Y" key. 

*****

Webster Hoyt marveled at the Watchtower Viewing Room - so called because of the large clear window that constituted one wall, allowing a spectacular view of the planet Earth below. It was the first time in all of his many visits to the Watchtower that he'd actually seen the room and it was truly a breathtaking sight. 

Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman all stood at that window, looking at the blue planet in quiet contemplation. Green Lantern, Flash, Plastic Man and Aquaman stood off to the side, trading quiet glances back and forth, but none of them saying a word. Webster, in fact, was the only one speaking. 

"So what's the big occasion, guys and gals? Why are we meeting here?" He glanced around to each of them, the trio at the window turning to look at him. But still, no one spoke. "Guys?" 

"Webster Hoyt!" 

Webster froze. He knew that voice. He knew that voice all too well. That heavy, booming voice with a deep Mississippi drawl. He spun toward the door to see Leon McKinley - his arch-nemesis - standing in the doorway of the Watchtower Viewing Room with a snarl on his lips. Webster frantically looked around at the League members, looking for an explanation, a reason... _some _indication that they were seeing what he was. All he got in response was stone-faced stares. 

The sound of footsteps on the hard marble floor drew his attention back to the doorway as Leon started slowly walking straight toward him. Webster blinked his eyes several times in disbelief as McKinley began to change - his body seemed to shrink, his facial features becoming lighter, more feminine. His hair darkened and grew considerably longer. Within the space of three steps, Leon McKinley had suddenly somehow... morphed into his intern, Julie Merriwether! Confusion flooded his mind as Julie continued forward, suddenly changing again. The figure was still female, but she'd grown a bit taller again, her face broadening slightly and her clothes changing from the smart business suit to a white and purple spandex outfit - it was Faith, the last member of his failed "Obsidian League". Webster's mouth jerked open in confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. In the last three steps leading up to Webster, the figure morphed again, growing taller and broader, its skin turning a dark green. Webster's eyes popped out in shock as he suddenly found himself face to face with none other that the Martian Manhunter. 

Manhunter held the same stony gaze as the rest of the League as he stared eye to eye with the Justice League's Public Relations Agent. 

"Webster... you're fired." 

*****

~End~ 

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JLAin't will continue in the Cat-Tales/JLAin't Crossover:   
**World's Finest: Red Cape, Big City**  
Please check the Batman section of the FF.N site for updates.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


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